


My Favorite Pathologist

by Zoa



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: AU, F/M, Fake Marriage, Fake Relationship, Reichenbach hasn't happened, nor the subsequent events
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-11-30
Updated: 2017-07-28
Packaged: 2018-02-27 04:19:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 23,648
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2678879
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Zoa/pseuds/Zoa
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sherlock married Molly as a matter of convenience. It was for a case on a cruise ship, and it required a credible newly married couple. Of course it was only temporary, or so he thought. Unfortunately a storm made a 30-day marriage turn into a seven year inconvenience.</p><p>Inspired by the movie My Favorite Wife.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

October 2007

She had been hesitant. She hadn’t wanted to go on the blasted cruise but he had insisted. He had given her those large, puppy eyes he knew she couldn’t resist and asked her softly, in a tone he knew she would never refuse. Her sigh and slight smile was all the confirmation he needed. After that, it was a quick stop by the nearest registrar and Sherlock Holmes and Molly Hooper were married. The best and most thorough cover story he could come up with for the case. A case Sherlock now, for multiple reasons, wished very ardently he hadn’t taken. The most pressing was how tedious the news people would be, and how very awkward it was going to be explaining the story to Molly’s parents. 

She was dead, and it was his fault.

There was a part of Sherlock - not small, but one he ignored anyway - that ached for her. Guilt was the sole reason, he managed to convince himself.  That would go away in time. It wasn’t his fault she had agreed ( _really now, Sherlock? It had nothing to do with you manipulating her feelings?_ His mind whispered, for some reason in Mrs. Hudson’s voice), it wasn’t his fault there was a hurricane ( _but honestly, who plans a cruise in the middle of hurricane season?_ ), and it wasn’t his fault they got separated in the scramble for the lifeboats. After the storm had passed and he and the surviving passengers and crew were rescued, he had diligently gone in search of the young pathologist. Mycroft had even leant a hand, but neither brother had any luck. It seemed she was well and truly gone. Nothing definite could be done, though. There was no body. No proof she was actually dead.

Sherlock was stuck being married to a dead woman for seven years.

 

* * *

 

May 2014

The time had finally come. He would be able to put the past behind him at last and move on from Molly. Not that he had been terribly upset at her death... it was unfortunate, but couldn’t have been helped. Now he had a new case that needed a marriage, and this time, he wasn’t going to bother telling the girl. It was easier if he could go about the business without that complication. John Watson, his roommate of the last four years, had made his disapproval of that plan known so many times Sherlock had stopped counting. But the former soldier knew Sherlock best, and knew that despite John’s protests, Sherlock would go on with the case. Fortunately for Sherlock, John was busy with his own upcoming wedding to be any more insistent on the matter.

Today was the day. He was going to the court to have Molly declared legally dead, and marry Janine. Get it all done in one. That way he could move on with the case, solve it, and divorce Janine in a maximum of six months-time.

As long as everything went as planned.

 

* * *

 

The thin, petite woman stepped gently off the bus as it stopped in front of 221 Baker Street. Her clothes, linen pants and a sweatshirt, were a little out of date, and obviously not hers, but she was presentable. It would take a closer look at her tanned and freckled features to see that she had spent years on an uninhabited island.

She thanked the driver and stood for a few minutes staring up at the building, wondering how the man who lived in flat B would take her sudden reappearance. Chewing her bottom lip nervously, she rang the bell, and hoped that he was home. Though in all likelihood he was off on another case. A smile appeared on her face as she thought about him. Whenever he got a new case he acted as if he were a little boy at Christmas. Her heart jumped when she considered facing him again, and she wondered if he had missed her at all... probably not. The marriage might have legally been real, but she was certain at the time he didn’t reciprocate her feelings toward him. Why should seven years have made a difference? In any case, she needed him to be the first one to know she was back. After that, then she would be able to handle informing her parents.

The door opened as she was thinking, answered by a friendly elder lady. “Hello- Molly!”

“Hello, Mrs. Hudson,” Molly Hooper replied, a broad smile on her face. “How are you?”

For a moment Sherlock’s landlady simply stood there, blinking. Molly bounced slightly on her feet. “You’re alive...” a faint whisper came from Mrs. Hudson.

“Yes, yes I am,” Molly replied, and wrung her hands. “I know it must be such a shock. We really should get you inside and sat down.” She moved forward to support Mrs. Hudson, who gladly took the help. They moved into Mrs. Hudson’s private flat, and Molly hurried into the kitchen, searching for brandy, or any liquor to help the poor lady. She berated herself over and over for surprising Mrs. Hudson in such a way. Molly hadn’t even thought about who would answer the door downstairs! She could only hope her thoughtlessness hadn’t induced a heart attack in Mrs. Hudson.

Molly found some brandy for Mrs. Hudson then hurried back into the parlor and knelt beside the old lady. “Here, drink this. It’ll help. Trust me, I’m a doctor.” She said wryly. Mrs. Hudson drank the brandy in one and then took a moment to just stare at Molly.

“You’re really here,” she murmured, and took Molly’s cheeks in her hands, needing to make sure the other woman was real. “Oh... my dear. We thought you were dead!”

“Yes, I think I know that,” Molly nodded. “But I survived the sinking. I know it sounds ridiculous, but I got stranded on an uninhabited island.”

“An actual – real – deserted island?” Mrs. Hudson gaped at Molly. “My, my. I didn’t know there were any such things any more. But how did you get off?”

“Well, a few weeks ago, a schooner, carrying of all things, a honeymooning couple, stopped by and they were nice enough to pick me up.” She smiled. “I got a nice tan in any case. Seven years is quite enough time to get even me some sun.”

“You do look lovely, dear,” Mrs. Hudson murmured, tears in her eyes. “Oh my. It’s so good to see you.” She then hugged Molly tightly. Before Molly’s disappearance, she and Mrs. Hudson had developed a close relationship. Being the only two women in Sherlock Holmes’ life had given them a common bond. Although Mrs. Hudson had not been too fond of the plan Sherlock had concocted to marry Molly, she was very pleased he was going to marry the girl, even though he had insisted it meant nothing. Perhaps he might discover he liked being married, and Molly was perfect to counter-balance his eccentricities.

After the hug, Molly cleared her throat and glanced toward the door. “So, um, how is Sherlock?” The quiet that fell made the pathologist rather nervous. “Mrs. Hudson? Is he alright?”

“Oh, of course! Yes, he’s alright. It’s just...” Mrs. Hudson decided it was best to just come out with it. “Well, he’s getting married again.”

Molly blinked. Married? Sherlock Holmes married. “Is it for a case?” she blurted. “It must be for a case.”

Mrs. Hudson, not being privy to Sherlock’s plan, was under the impression that the engagement was real. “No, Molly. It’s quite real. He’s actually gone to day to marry her.”

“Oh,” Molly leaned back, her surprise written all over her face. She could only hope that the hurt wasn’t. As the thought that a man who had told her he would never seriously marry was in fact getting married, she realized what that meant about her. “Wait. Doesn’t that mean I’m legally dead?”

Mrs. Hudson face went blank. “I suppose. But, you’re not really. Which means...”

“Which means Sherlock is about to commit bigamy,” and Molly burst out laughing, which confused the landlady. “I’m sorry!” Molly gasped out between giggles, seeing Mrs. Hudson’s bewildered expression. “It’s just that knowing that Sherlock Holmes, the man who condemns sentiment, is now married to two women, is the funniest thing I’ve ever heard!” Mrs. Hudson joined in and both women had a good long laugh over the situation, at Sherlock’s expense.

“In all seriousness, though,” Molly finally sighed. “What am I supposed to do now?”

“Go to him of course. Stop him.” Mrs. Hudson replied simply. “He’s on his way to Scotland, I believe, with Janine. Their honeymoon. You should go up there!”

“Do you think I should? He wouldn’t like it.” Molly worried her bottom lip. “It’s all such a terrible misunderstanding. I’m sure that if- what?” Mrs. Hudson had been shaking her head.

“My dear, the blunder isn’t that you’re alive now and now there more legal hoops to jump through. It’s that he’s getting married to someone I’m sure he doesn’t actually love.”

Molly frowned. “But you said...”

“I know. But I also know Sherlock. And I know how he reacted around you. He didn’t marry you just for a case, I don’t believe that for a minute.” Mrs. Hudson sniffed indignantly.

It was Molly’s turn to shake her head. “While that’s nice of you to say, Mrs. Hudson, I am very sure he had no other thought in his head besides the case when we married. I knew what I was doing. I’m not an utter fool when it comes to Sherlock Holmes.” Mrs. Hudson looked as if she were going to argue, but Molly held up a hand. “There’s time for all of this later. Right now I think you’re right. I do need to go to see him before he breaks the law. But,” she looked down at her clothes. “I’m afraid I’m not very presentable.”

“Ah, I can fix that.” Mrs. Hudson smiled. “I’ve got a tenant – a nice girl, although a bit eccentric when it comes to plants, one of those vegan people you know – who’s about your size. I’m sure she’d wouldn’t mind letting you borrow something.”

“Thank you,” Molly said graciously, and as her emotions began to overwhelm her about finally being home, she hugged the old lady tightly. “I’m so glad to be back.”

Next, however, she would be seeing Sherlock. She might wish to be back on the island depending on how that meeting would go.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock goes on his honeymoon with his new wife, only to find his thought-to-be-dead wife waiting for him.

_My God, must she talk so much?_ Sherlock thought as he sat in the car on the way to the hotel they were staying at for his and Janine’s honeymoon, which was at a small loch in Scotland. She hadn’t stopped since they had left the airport at Glasgow, and neither had his fingers, which were tapping a manic dance on his knees, an action that kept him from spitting out what he really thought about Janine as she talked on, and on, and on about their marriage and how excited she was for their ‘honeymoon’. Sherlock held back a shiver at the term. Nothing would happen, of course. That was not the purpose of this marriage and Sherlock would do nothing more than what the case required of him. Which included a faux holiday to a Scottish loch, which of course was part of the case. Janine had been none too pleased about the locale, but Sherlock had managed to talk her into it, which, in all honesty, had been too easy. A girl like Janine wanted a trip to Paris, not Scotland. He would have to keep an eye on her while he solved the case.

The only reason he was performing this charade was because the case happened to be a ten. A man, Sylvester Pollock, had claimed that while on his own honeymoon, his wife, Cynthia, had disappeared on the loch in question, Loch Crenan. That alone would never had gotten above a four, but the man had stated he had seen something rise up from the depths of the loch and take her down with it. Sherlock had thought Pollock might have hallucinated it, or was lying, but nothing in his mannerisms or behavior spoke to any deception. In addition, upon doing research on the loch, Sherlock discovered a history spanning forty years of brides being taken away from their husbands by the loch. None of the women had ever been found.

So it was that Sherlock had decided to get married. Janine was the bait for whoever or whatever was taking the women. He had met her at St. Bart’s when he was on another case. She was a junior pathologist that had expressed interest in him, but he had shut her down, of course. Now, however, she was useful. It was simply a coincidence that she was in the same position Molly Hooper had been in when he proposed a similar scheme seven years ago. Janine, however, did not know it was all a ruse. She didn’t have the mind to handle such a situation. As a matter of fact, Sherlock predicted she would leave the pathology profession in the first seven months.

The hotel finally came into view and Janine mercifully stopped talking as she parked the vehicle, only to start up again as they walked toward the entrance. The building was a Victorian mansion built in the 1880s, that looked a little like a small castle, situated on the Isle of Eriska. That was one thing Janine had insisted on, staying in a real hotel and not a cottage. Sherlock had suggested a cottage because it was nearest where his client’s wife had disappeared, but his fiancée insisted on the hotel, and as he didn’t want to give the true purpose of the trip away, he had reluctantly agreed. As he and Janine walked into the building, she began to discuss buying a new flat in London, as Sherlock’s was “so small and tacky, it would never do to raise a family in”. Sherlock was about to snap out a reply that would surely have earned him an immediate divorce, when, upon entering the hotel, he saw something (or rather, someone) that made him almost believe Janine had finally driven him insane.

“Sherly?” Janine tugged on his arm. He had just stopped and was staring into hotel’s dining room, which was adjacent to the front entrance. “Sherly? What’s wrong? Are you alright? You’ve gone pale.”

“I need to go,” he said, and pulled her fingers off his arm. “Hungry.” And he strode quickly into the dining room, leaving his new wife standing dumbfounded at the front desk.

 It couldn’t be her. It was impossible. She was dead. Then again, he couldn’t mistake Molly Hooper’s petite, brunette form for anyone else. Especially not the awkwardly confident stance she took when unsure. Sherlock stopped at the entrance to the dining room, where he had seen her, and turned about, looking for her. His heart pounded, not only because he feared he might be hallucinating, but the thought of seeing Molly Hooper alive and well was exciting. He began to feel dismay and disappointment when he couldn’t find her, feelings he didn’t like having, especially in relation to a person. The emotions he was experiencing at the possibility Molly was alive were unnatural to him and he didn’t know how to handle them. They reeked of sentiment. His wildly turning and self-berating thoughts ceased, though, when he turned one more time and there she was, in a quiet, low-lit corner of the room. In the flesh and smiling shyly at him. He hadn’t realized how much he had missed her, missed that smile. She was wearing another woman’s clothes, as they were more fitted than Molly cared for, but she looked well in them; her tan also fit her. She had been in a place with a lot of sun, an island was the most plausible conclusion, most likely for the entire time she was missing. He walked over to her and they stood looking at each other for a long moment, neither taking their eyes off the other. Sherlock didn’t know what to say, and thankfully Molly was the first to break the silence.

“Hello, Sherlock. I know I’m late back, but I hope that didn’t stop you from solving the case.” She said, trying awkwardly to bring humor into the meeting.

_Case? What case?_ Sherlock had no idea what she was talking about, until through the haze of realizing she was alive, the circumstances that had led to her disappearance returned to his memory. “I solved it,” was all he could manage. His throat felt dry and he had to clench his fists to prevent them from shaking. All he wanted to do was take her in his arms and reassure himself she was really there. _Stop it, Sherlock. That is sentiment!_

“I knew you would,” she said. “You always do.”

“Not always.” He murmured.

Molly nodded, understanding he meant her, and looked down at her shoes, practical flats. She was always practical, Sherlock remembered. It was a characteristic that had drawn him to her. “I don’t blame you for that. You couldn’t have known I had survived.” She looked up again and watched his face carefully as she spoke. “I understand a congratulations are in order, by the way. You’re married?”

“Married? Oh, yes. Janine.” He scowled. _How irritating._

“Yes. Are you actually married?” She asked, a tint of hopefulness in her voice that did not escape Sherlock, and he was for some reason loathe to disappoint her.

“We are, in fact.” He replied tiredly. “I just had you confirmed legally dead this morning so I could marry Janine.”

“This morning!” Molly exclaimed, her eyes widening and her cheeks flushing red. “Well, you didn’t spare any time, did you.” She added, anger clearly written in her tone and on her face. Sherlock looked at her in confusion.

“Why should I have waited any longer? I needed to marry her as quickly as possible and couldn’t do that until you were dead. And now I’ve committed bigamy.” He added in exasperation.

“That’s not my fault!”

“I didn't say it was. Although your timing is awkward, as you said. If you had come back sooner, I wouldn’t have inadvertently broken the law.” He didn’t mean to sound accusatory, but the look on her face told him he had. “Which is not your fault.” He confirmed hastily. Molly huffed out a breath and crossed her arms, and looked anywhere but at him, trying to figure out how to proceed without shouting at him. “It’s good to see you again, Molly.” She heard him say softly. The gentleness and what she swore was sincerity in his voice caused Molly to soften and give him a smile.

“Thank you, Sherlock. It’s really good to see you too,” she replied and took a hesitant step forward. Sherlock saw conflict cross over her face, before suddenly a tight pressure came around his middle. He looked down and saw Molly Hooper hugging him tightly, her cheek pressed against the front of his Belstaff. Sherlock blinked for a moment, unsure of what to do, but he finally lowered his arms and returned her embrace. It was the least he could do. They were married, after all, and this was probably the first human contact she’d had in years. 

After a minute Molly pulled away, leaving Sherlock with the odd feeling of loss. “We do still have to figure out what to do, Sherlock. I’m not actually dead, and you have to explain that to... what was her name again?”

“Janine,” Sherlock grumbled, knocked back into reality. “Yes. That will be a little difficult. She’s rather high strung. And I never told her I was married before.”

“You didn’t?” Molly exclaimed, at once hurt and angry. “Why not?”

“It wasn’t relevant.” He frowned. “Or her business.”

“Sherly!” A high-pitched wail came wafting over to the pair, and both grimaced, along with the few other people in the dining room. “Sherly! What are you doing?”

“Janine, I take it.” Molly said dryly.

“Over here, Janine!” Sherlock called back with a sigh. Janine joined them with a pout on her face that sickened both Molly and Sherlock, and immediately put her arms through Sherlock’s.

“I missed you, Sherly,” she whined, and kissed his cheek.

“Molly, I would like you to meet my... ah, wife... Janine, this is Molly Hooper... my friend.” Sherlock, despite his best efforts, could not disguise his discomfort.

“Very nice to meet you, Miss Hooper.” Janine said sweetly, which Molly found grating.

“Yes, it’s so nice, as one of Sherlock’s _friends_ to finally meet his _wife_.” She replied, and looked pointedly at Sherlock while smiling politely. He met her eyes and saw how unhappy Molly was with the way she was introduced. _This is going to be incredibly difficult,_ he lamented to himself.

“Well, Janine, we should get up to our room,” Sherlock said, more than ready to escape the intensely awkward situation in which he found himself. “Molly, are you staying here as well?”

She nodded curtly. “Yes, I am. I’m on holiday.”

“Really?” Janine’s eyes widened. “Pardon my saying so, but you look as if you just got off one!” She laughed. “Your tan is gorgeous.”

“Oh, you noticed that? My, how perceptive you are.” Molly said too-sweetly. “I did recently spend some weeks in the Caribbean. For work, though. There was hardly any time for pleasure.” Again she looked at Sherlock with an expression that could not be misunderstood, making him shift uncomfortably.

Janine nodded in supposed understanding. “What is it you do, Molly?” Sherlock tried to tug his new wife away, but she stood her ground.

“I’m a pathologist.”                           

“Oh really? What a coincidence! So am I!” Janine exclaimed in delight.

Molly barked a laugh. “That is a coincidence! Fancy the odds!” For the third time she glared at Sherlock, who swallowed and turned toward the door, dragging Janine behind him.

“We really should go,” he said shortly. After he settled Janine into their room, he would have to have a talk with Molly about her behavior.

“I’ll see you lovebirds later, then!” Molly called after them, waving in a comic fashion. Sherlock shot her a look that could kill over his shoulder, but she only smiled in return. After they disappeared into the hotel’s elevator, Molly sobered and went to sit at a table to think. She and Sherlock still had much to discuss, and meeting Janine had only increased the questions on Molly’s side. “I wonder if he does love her after all,” she murmured, but shook her head. Sherlock Holmes in love with anyone was almost an impossibility. He was “married to his work”, as she’d heard him say once. “And that’s the only serious marriage that man will ever have.” She told herself with a nod. Telling herself that, though, didn’t help soothe the ache in her heart.

 

* * *

 

When Sherlock suggested Janine take a bath (so he could have some privacy) she jumped at the chance, and with a kiss told him to join her soon. He smiled and laughed lightly, but promised nothing. The moment she went in to the bath Sherlock pulled out his mobile phone and dialed John Watson’s number. Never before had he had one woman, much less two, cause so much trouble for him (excepting The Woman) and he needed the advice of a man who had experience being with a woman.

“Let me see if I understand this,” John said slowly, after Sherlock had explained the situation in entirety. “You, Sherlock Holmes, have to decide which woman you want to stay married to?” Sherlock had to pull the phone away from his ear and grimaced when John began to laugh loudly. “That is rich!”

“I’m so glad someone is enjoying this,” Sherlock muttered. “Could you please stop cackling now? This is very serious.”

“Ahem, ah, yes. Yes. You’re right. Of course it is.” John took a deep breath. “Okay. So what do you want from me?”

“Tell me what to do.” Sherlock stated.

“I don’t know what to do!” John exclaimed. “I’m getting married to _one_ woman, Sherlock! Besides, I already told you that marrying Janine was a bad-”

“I don’t have time for an I-told-you-so, John! I need to know what to do!”

“Fine. What I would suggest is to tell Janine the truth, divorce her, and get Molly declared legally undead.” John sighed. “And then, if you feel you must, you can divorce Molly. Although she sounds like the only woman in the world who is willing to put up with the real you, so I would suggest not doing that.”

“John,” Sherlock said warningly. “I can’t tell Janine yet, or help Molly get herself declared alive again. I have to finish this case.”

“Alright,” John replied grudgingly, and Sherlock was thankful his friend didn’t try to argue the point. “But as soon as it’s over! And you had better explain that to Molly. I’m looking forward to meeting her when you get back. I have a feeling she and I are going to get along quite well.”

 Sherlock heard Janine exiting the bath and rolled his eyes. The interruptions would never cease. “Janine is coming back. Have to go. Goodbye and thank you for not helping John,” Sherlock snapped. He stuck his phone back in his trouser pocket and, before Janine came out of the bathroom, made for the door. He didn’t feel ready to come up with excuses for his new wife just yet. He had to discuss the situation with Molly first.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The location of the honeymoon is a real place in Scotland. I'm taking some creative license though to fit with the mystery. 
> 
> The response to this fic is incredible! Thank you all so much for the comments, bookmarks, and kudos!


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock and Molly discuss their situation and Molly joins the investigation. Sherlock has breakfast with both his wives, and a clue is discovered when another bride disappears.

Molly was reading a book on her bed when she heard the knock on her room’s door. She frowned and padded over, her bare feet sinking into the thick, green carpet of her traditional Victorian bedroom. She opened the door slightly, keeping the security chain in place, just in case.

“Sherlock!” She exclaimed, and immediately closed the door so that she could remove the chain. “How did you know what room I was in?”

“I contacted the front desk. May I come in?” he asked, and took the two steps into the room when she nodded. Molly closed the door behind him and lingered there for a moment, gathering her thoughts.

Sherlock looked around the room, his hands behind his back. It was spacious, with a color scheme of various, complimentary greens, and included a large, four-poster mahogany bed with a desk, chair, and two upholstered armchairs to match. It also had a wide fireplace, which at the moment had a small fire crackling and warming the slightly drafty room, due to the only window being neglectfully unsealed. “This is a nice room,” he said, by way of an attempt at making conversation. “It must have been expensive.”

“Yes,” she nodded and took a seat on the bed. She looked up at him with a passive expression. “Your brother, however, was very accommodating.”

Sherlock raised his eyebrows. “I see. Was he the one who helped you return?”

Molly shook her head. “No. But somehow he knew when I was at Baker Street. He sent a car and helped me get here. He also told me about your case and the plan for Janine. That’s a terrible thing to do to a person, Sherlock.”

“How kind of him.” Sherlock remarked dryly, purposefully ignoring the last sentence. “I’m sure I won’t hear the end of this from him for a long time.”

She hummed thoughtfully. “Maybe you shouldn’t.” She said, and he frowned at her.

“I did nothing wrong, Molly.”

“No, not concerning the sinking, or my being on an island so long, but certainly concerning my return, and your treatment of Janine.” She said bluntly.

“What did I do?”

“You could have not lied to Janine in the first place to get her to marry you. You could have told her the truth now,” she told him flatly. “You could have told her I was your wife. You could have, for once, done the right thing.”

“I can’t. I can’t jeopardize the case by telling Janine who you are or why I’m really here.” He explained calmly. “It’s too time sensitive to fix the predicament we find ourselves in.”

“Is that because you can’t or you don’t want to stop the case?” Molly asked irritably.

“I _can’t_ ,” Sherlock insisted. “One hundred women have disappeared from this location over forty years. No one knows how or why. Would you really ask me to leave when those are the stakes?”

Molly looked away and shook her head. “Of course not,” she murmured. “No.” She rubbed her cheeks with her hands and took a deep breath. “Let me help you solve it then.”

Sherlock looked at her in surprise. “Help me solve it?” He repeated. “I don’t need help.”

“You’re going to get it anyway, because I want this thing solved as soon as possible,” she stated, meeting his gaze with resolution. “Besides, Mrs. Hudson told me you’re used to companions in investigating now. And I’m a doctor, too. Or at least, I was.” She frowned. “I suppose I’m a bit behind now.” She glanced at the book she had laid on the bed, which was a new edition of an anatomy textbook. “Everything is so different now,” she murmured. “I barely recognized London. My old flat was let, my cat’s gone, my job’s taken, and even my fake husband has moved on...”

“Molly, you’re babbling.” Sherlock sat down beside her and spoke gently. If there was one thing John had managed to improve Sherlock on, it was his bed side manner (thought from the look Molly just shot him, he still had a long way to go). “But, to be honest, I rather missed it.”

Molly laughed and her glare turned into a smile. “Thank you, I think. So, will you let me help you solve this case?”

Sherlock looked at her and considered the proposition. Molly was a pathologist, and had been more than useful on many cases before her unfortunate disappearance. Her mind was nowhere near as brilliant as his, but she was perceptive and would bring a professional opinion to the investigation. It also gave Sherlock a pleasant feeling to think of Molly and him solving a case together in the field again. They could only hope this time wouldn’t end as badly as the last.

“Very well. You could be helpful.” He nodded and Molly smiled. The room’s phone rang and Sherlock had to wait for Molly to answer it before her reply, which had been coming before the interruption. However, Molly’s face suddenly twisted as she tried to hold back laughter, and she held the phone out to him.

“It’s Janine, _Sherly._ ”

“Stop that,” he ordered grumpily, and took the phone. “Yes, Janine?”

“Why are you in her room?” came the shrill reply. “Get back up to ours right now, Sherlock.”

“You look a little red, Sherlock,” Molly whispered, standing close to him. “Try some breathing exercises. They do wonders to relieve stress.”

Sherlock pushed how nice it felt to have Molly close to him out of his mind and glared at her. “Not helping.” He hissed.

“What?” Janine called out. “Sherly, please! I miss you.” Her voice turned into what was meant to be a seductive pout, but she only succeeded in making Sherlock supremely uncomfortable.

“I’m talking with Molly.” He said flatly. “I can’t come up yet.”

Janine sighed, exasperated. “I know she’s an old friend, Sherlock. But I’m your bride!” With that she shut the phone down. Sherlock sighed heavily and laid back on the bed to stare at the ceiling, his hands in the prayer position he traditionally took when he entered his mind palace. He felt the bed shift beside him and turned his head to see Molly on her side, propped on her elbow, glee written all over her face.

“Had a domestic, did we?” she teased.

“You needn’t look as if you’re enjoying this so much,” Sherlock grumbled.

“No, I suppose I don’t.” Molly nodded solemnly, and then grinned. “But it’s so much fun to see you so uncomfortable.”

“You’ve changed,” he narrowed his eyes and turned to face her fully. “You weren’t nearly so prone to laugh at me before.”

“I suppose a seven-year vacation will do that to a person,” she murmured. “The salt air, you know.”

“That’s not scientifically sound, Dr. Hooper.”

“No, it’s not,” she shook her head. “You should go. Janine won’t wait forever.” She sat up and he followed suit. They walked to the door together and as she opened it, she said, “I’ll see you tomorrow, Sherlock.”

“Goodnight, Molly.” He replied and smiled at her before leaning down and pressing a gentle kiss to her cheek, lingering perhaps a moment longer than he should. “I’m very glad you are alive and here.” He murmured as he pulled away.

Molly’s throat had gone dry the moment his lips had touched her skin, and she felt her cheeks heat up. “Goodnight Sherlock,” she mumbled and closed the door, to wonder what in the world that kiss had meant.

Sherlock stood at Molly’s door for almost a full minute more before striding to the elevator to rejoin his ‘bride’ in their room on the floor above. The elevator, being at least fifty years old, was slow, but he could use the time to come up with a story for Janine. She would need quite the explanation to excuse him being gone; and an even better one if he was going to escape the wedding night.

However, despite whatever unexpected turn of events, he had always been good at improvising a story, and, if all else failed, he could always drug Janine. She would never know.

 

* * *

 

Sherlock and Janine were invited to breakfast the next morning by Molly Hooper, who said she relished the opportunity to catch up with Sherlock and learn about his wife. Janine hadn’t been too pleased at the prospect, and neither had Sherlock, but Molly had insisted. So they were all sitting in the dining room together, only Molly really enjoying her food. She had dug into the scrambled eggs as soon as the waiter had set the plate down. 

“My, you love eggs, don’t you,” Janine said lightly. Molly, realizing she must look quite uncivilized, slowed down.

“Yes, I do,” she nodded. “I, um, haven’t had them in a long time. Not many eggs where I was living.”

Sherlock huffed out a breath. Was she trying to make him feel guilty?

Janine nodded, and with a glance at Sherlock asked, “What did you say you were doing there, as a pathologist?” Sherlock, interested in what she had done as well (more so because he knew the true reason she was there), leant forward slightly.

Molly considered for a moment before answering. She hadn’t expected to be questioned on what she had done in her professional capacity. “The local people were excellent at deceiving others into thinking they were dead. The locals, I mean. As a pathologist, it was an intriguing study.” She looked down at her food and poked at a sausage link, hoping desperately Janine would buy the explanation.

Sherlock sat back and crossed his arms over his chest. _She’s still a terrible liar_. However, Janine seemed to accept the answer. Molly took the silence that followed as an opportunity to ask her own questions and divert the conversation away from herself. “So, how did you two meet?”

“At work,” Janine answered with a smile and put a hand on Sherlock’s knee. He resisted the urge to pull away. “An office romance, in a way.”

“Oh, how romantic! Dead bodies are an excellent aphrodisiac!” Molly joked. “I should know. I found my husband at a morgue too.”

Janine tried to mask the disgust at the anecdote. “You did? Is he here with you?” She asked innocently, though both Molly and Sherlock suspected she was fishing, probably to find out if last night Molly and Sherlock had been alone together.

“Um, yes,” Molly said slowly, a smile playing at the corner of her mouth. “But he left early this morning. Said something about fishing being fine today. Tell me more about you and Sherlock. He’s so quiet about his relationships you’d think he was keeping a secret!” she laughed.

“I think we should get going, darling,” Sherlock interrupted, and stood. “You have that spa appointment this morning, and I wanted to fish as well.” Janine frowned but stood as well.

“If you see my husband tell him I need to talk with him,” Molly looked up at Sherlock with a smile. “If you don’t mind.”

“Perhaps you could walk with me and we could seek him out together.” Sherlock suggested. Janine shot him a glare. “Is that really necessary?” She asked. “Perhaps Molly doesn’t want to walk along a wet beach.”

“Oh no! I don’t mind. As long as Sherlock doesn’t mind the company.” Molly replied, and bounced out of her seat.

Janine pursed her lips and tugged Sherlock toward the lobby. “Sherly, I know she’s an old friend of yours, but I don’t think she’s being entirely truthful about why she’s here.” She whispered, glancing back at Molly, who was busy finishing up her breakfast. “Husband or not, I think she’s in love with you.”

Sherlock blinked in surprise. “Why ever would you think that?”

“The way she looks at you when you’re not looking back,” Janine told him.

“I don’t have time for jealousy, Janine,” Sherlock said, irritated, but wondered if what Janine said was true.

“I’m not jealous,” she snapped. “I’m just concerned.”

“Do stop it, Janine. There is nothing between Molly and me,” he said finally, and stalked back to the breakfast table. “Let’s go Molly. I want to get this case solved before I go completely insane.”

 

* * *

 

“She’s really jealous of me?” Molly laughed. They walking along the beach of the loch, nearing where the woman had reported to have been taken. “I’m flattered.”

Sherlock sighed and kicked up a bit of sand in frustration. “She’s being ridiculous. There is obviously nothing between the two of us.” He hadn’t told Molly about what Janine had said about Molly being in love with him. He wanted to see if he could catch that impression himself.

“Except that we’re married,” Molly reminded him. “That’s sort of a big something.”

“Technically, you’re dead, so we’re not married.” Sherlock retorted.

“Technically,” Molly mocked him, “you’re supposed to tell her I’m alive.”

Sherlock stopped walking and glared at the petite form beside him. “I thought you understood why I can’t do that yet.”

Molly sighed and looked up at the sky. “Yes, I do. It’s just a bit frustrating to be technically dead and married at the same time. I feel like a ghost.” She shivered and glanced over at the loch. “As if I belong in that mist.”

Sherlock watched her for a few moments as the wind picked up and blew through her scarf and hair. Her melancholy expression and thin frame, despite her tan, made it seem as if she could indeed disappear into the wind and mist. A thought that made him want to hold her tightly so that it couldn’t happen.

“You haven’t said anything about the island.” He remarked quietly. “Was it terrible?”

Molly turned back to him and shrugged. “I suppose at first. But then I was panicked and frightened out of my wits. After the storm cleared, though, it became better. It took me months, Sherlock, to learn how to survive.” She closed her eyes and seemed to be back on the island for a minute. “I made it, though,” she opened her eyes again and took a deep breath of the salty air. “I’m alive.”

“Yes, you are. Molly Hooper, you never cease to amaze me,” he hadn’t meant for his thoughts to form words, but they seemed to come of their own accord, and made her blush. “We should keep going,” he added gruffly, uncomfortable with the suddenly intimate moment, and strode off. Molly had to trot to catch up to him.

“So, what are we doing on the beach, Sherlock?” She asked. “What do you expect to find? You told me on the way over here Pollock’s wife disappeared months ago. The tides have surely wiped away any evidence, if there had been any in the first place.”

“I realize that, but we’re not looking for evidence of Mrs. Pollock. A woman disappeared from the hotel last night, in much the same circumstances as that of our missing bride.” Sherlock explained.

“What?” Molly exclaimed. “How do you know that? The hotel manager didn’t say a word!”

“Local paper,” he produced a copy from his coat’s pocket and handed it to Molly.

“ _Crenan_ _Spirit Takes Another Bride_.” She read the headline on the front page aloud slowly. “‘The newly-dubbed Mrs. Jack Gregory was last seen by her husband taking a walk along the shore of Loch Crenan. Minutes later a fog rolled in and he heard her scream. He reports that after reaching the scene, there was nothing...’ That’s awful. Oh, that poor man.” Molly said sadly.

“Indeed. However, this is a lucky break for us,” Sherlock said gleefully, only to frown after feeling Molly smack his shoulder with the newspaper.

“Don’t look so happy!” She scolded. “A woman is missing! But why is it a lucky break?”

Sherlock rubbed his injured shoulder as he answered. “If you hadn’t interrupted, I was about to say because she screamed. None of the other reports have mentioned a scream. Not Pollock’s, nor the previous disappearances. It was all silent.” He stopped abruptly and knelt down, staring at the sand. They were at the edge of the loch, where the entrance to the sea was located. It was a small inlet, surrounded on both sides by tall hills. It made for a striking and eerie scene in the mist. “Whoever took her, made a mistake.”

Molly knelt beside him and her eyes widened. A single partial boot print lay before them in the sand near the edge of the water, half eroded from the tide, but definitely there.  She stood quickly and turned in a circle, shielding her eyes as the sun peeked out from behind a cloud. “That’s the only shoe print except for ours. I can’t see any others.”

“No, I expect not. The perpetrators probably time their kidnappings with the tide so as to leave no prints. But, last night they were less cautious.” Sherlock took pictures of the print with this phone as he spoke. “They traveled further up the beach, though still within the tide’s reach, it would take longer for the prints to disappear.”

“Why would they do that?” Molly asked.

“Because Mrs. Gregory fought back,” He replied, and straightened up. “She fought for her life.”

“Sherlock,” Molly said softly. “We have to stop this.” He looked down her and nodded.

“We will, Molly. We will. The first step is to find the owner of the boot that made this print.”

“How do you plan to do that? It’s only a partial print, and we don’t have any lab equipment to piece a full one together,” Molly said.

Sherlock’s face slowly morphed into a grin. “Well...”

Molly’s eyes widened, and she thought she knew what he was thinking. “I’m not breaking into a laboratory, Sherlock!”

“We don’t have to break into a laboratory,” he said simply. “I brought all the necessary equipment with me. Albeit on a smaller, less efficient scale.”

“I suppose that’s alright,” she admitted grudgingly. Sherlock would make sure that whatever he had with him would be professional grade. “But what about letting the local police know?” she suggested. “Surely they suspect a kidnapping ring of some sort?”

He shook his head. “They’re all too superstitious. They think it’s a ghost or some monster from the loch. No. We will have to come up with another plan.” Sherlock felt his mobile buzz in his pocket and he pulled it out, only groan out a curse. “It’s Janine. I’m late for lunch, apparently. I don’t remember making plans to be with her.”

“She’s your wife, Sherlock,” Molly rolled her eyes. “You don’t ‘make plans’ to be together on your honeymoon. That is the plan.”

“Why can’t she be more like you were on that trip?” He whined as he turned to walk back down the beach. “You never expected that.”

“Because I understood our marriage wasn’t real,” she told him with a sigh, and fell into step beside him. “But Janine doesn’t.”

“It’s tedious and gets in the way of my work.” He complained. “Whose idea was this, anyway?”

“It was your plan, Sherlock!”

“I would say I must have been high, but I remember the situation clearly.” He muttered. “And I’ve been clean for seven years.”

Molly looked at him curiously. His addiction to heroin had been a point of contention in their working and friend relationship before she had been stranded. She had thought he would never stop. “Since I’ve been away? You stopped after I disappeared?”

Sherlock raised an eyebrow, having never actually considered the timeline of getting clean. “Yes,” he replied slowly. “I threw all my stashes away when I got home.”

Molly smiled at him gently. “That’s wonderful, Sherlock. I’m proud of you for doing that.”

He stopped and looked down at her, something like awe on his face. “Thank you, Molly Hooper.”

They stood on the beach for a minute or two, looking at each other. Molly with a broad smile on her face, feeling happy that something good had come of her time on the island, and Sherlock with wonder. Wonder at how the woman before him, despite everything that had happened to her, could feel pride in him, the man who had manipulated her and abandoned her to seven years of loneliness. As he thought, he considered the possibility that he might never understand Molly Hooper. What he was sure of, though, was that he wanted the time to try.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When Sherlock takes Janine on a visit to the local village, they have a fight and Sherlock vents to Molly. Somehow, the conversation steers toward Sherlock’s sex life...

Lunch with Janine went fairly well. Sherlock made sure to be apologetic, and even bought Janine flowers at the local town’s market (with Molly’s reluctant help). His charm and compliments during the meal were enough to soften Janine’s mood. When she went up to their room, claiming she had forgotten something (Sherlock didn’t care to catch what it was; probably lipstick or something equally useless) Sherlock used the opportunity to talk to the manager of the hotel. He approached the man casually, starting the conversation by asking about an inane service the hotel might provide for newlyweds, and then asked about the missing woman.

“By the way, I saw in the paper that a woman went missing last night,” he said, forcing his face to look concerned. “Do you know what could have happened?”

The manager’s face morphed into regret and he shook his head. “Such a terrible thing. Unfortunately, none of us here at the hotel has any idea what could have happened to her.”

“The paper said something about a ‘spirit’. Could it really be something of that sort?” Sherlock asked, lowering his voice as if the ghostly creature would suddenly pop up beside them.

“No, Mr. Holmes. I’m sure it’s not.” The manager said reassuringly, and smiled in a patronizing fashion. “There is no spirit on the loch.”

“You don’t think someone could have taken her?” Sherlock asked, his eyes wide. “Is _my_ wife safe?”

“Sir, please,” the manager put his hands up in a calming motion. “There is nothing to be concerned about. Frankly,” he looked about and leaned toward Sherlock, whispering conspiratorially. “I think _he_ did it.”

“He?” Sherlock questioned, and acted scandalized. “You couldn’t mean..?”

“The husband,” the manager nodded solemnly. “I think he may have done something.”

“Really?” Sherlock raised his eyebrows. “Like what?”

The man looked about to open up and explain, but something inward stopped him. “I really shouldn’t say, Mr. Holmes,” the manager shook his head. “I’ve said too much as it is. I would just be spreading rumors.”

“Of course,” Sherlock nodded, but cursed inwardly. “I understand.” He decided to attempt one last question. “But what about the others who have disappeared? Have you any idea what happened to them?”

The manager’s expression went stony and he picked up a clipboard from the front desk. “I really should be getting on with my duties, Mr. Holmes. If you’ll excuse me.”

Sherlock nodded again and watched the manager leave, paying special attention to his shoes. Dress shoes, new; his feet looked too small to fit the partial print found on the beach, but one never knew. Sherlock narrowed his eyes and scanned the suit the manager was wearing quickly before the man left his sight. A dark blue suit with gray pin-stripes. New and expensively made. Not really of considerable note, as a successful hotel as this would surely pay their manager well, but something interesting all the same. Even more interesting, was how the man had tried to direct the conversation toward the husband of the missing woman. It was possible, but highly unlikely, considering the long history of disappearances, that Gregory had anything to do with the matter. All the same, Sherlock had planned on visiting the man to ensure himself that was the case.

“Sherly! Why are you staring at the man’s feet?” Janine popped up beside him, causing Sherlock to start. The woman seemed to have the uncanny ability to appear anywhere without notice.  

“I’m not,” he lied and turned to her, forcing his face to look happy to see her. “What is it?”

“It’s time for our trip to the village,” Janine said cheerfully.

“Ah, yes,” Sherlock smiled. He wanted to visit the village and the people who lived there about the disappearances. For once Janine was being useful. “I hadn’t forgotten. I’ll pop up to our room and grab our coats. You wait here.” He hurried toward the elevator before Janine had a chance to say alright. Molly appeared behind the elevator doors and stepped out and Sherlock stopped. “I’m going to the village. Care to join me?” he asked.

Molly glanced at Janine and back Sherlock, an eyebrow raised. “No, I don’t think so.” She said. “I don’t think Janine would like that.”

Sherlock scowled deeply. “I don’t really care.”

“Sherlock, if you want to keep up this façade, you’re going to have to spend some time alone with her,” Molly scolded. “Besides, I have an appointment at the hotel spa.”

He growled in frustration but then his face brightened. “That’s excellent! You can question the staff about the disappearance of Mrs. Gregory.”

“Sherlock-” Molly started irritably, but he had already stepped into the elevator.

As the doors were closing, he grinned. “We can compare notes when I get back.”

 

* * *

 

Those notes would be full of Sherlock’s angry rants, as no one in the village was very cooperative. Either they were silent about the situation or made the usual “just awfuls” or “it’s all so dreadfuls”. In addition, Janine kept complaining about his stopping by everyone he saw and snapping about how he kept looking at men’s feet and shoes. That in itself wouldn’t have been so bad, except when she said he should stop “playing” the investigator for once. Playing! He broke at that and let her know exactly what he thought about her and how what he did was incredibly important, not a hobby, like her little dalliance with pathology, which, quite frankly, she was terrible at and she should just stop now instead of waiting another two months when she would finally get bored with it.

Janine had started crying at that point and told him he was awful and she didn’t know why she had married him. Sherlock rolled his eyes and said it was a mutual feeling. She had slapped him and said she was taking the car back to the hotel, and he could just walk. He stuck his hands in the pocket of his Belstaff and turned toward the walking path that led back to the hotel, feeling that he wasn’t going to get anywhere in the village anyway. The whole way back he grumbled to himself about what was wrong with marriage and Janine.

It took him nearly half an hour to make it back to the hotel. When he did, he found that he was locked out of his own room. He didn’t even try to bother convincing Janine to open it, only huffed down to Molly’s room and knocked harshly on the door. It took her a few moments longer than usual to open the door, and when she did, he saw why. She was clothed only in a very soft white bathrobe, and her hair was still dripping. She had been taking a bath. “Sherlock!” she said in surprise as he pushed his way in. “Already back from the village? Why are your shoes so muddy?”

He glanced down at his feet and groaned. “I had to walk back to the hotel,” he snapped. “Janine is being a child.” He flopped down into one of the armchairs beside the fireplace and began tapping the arms irritably with his fingers. “I can’t stand this. She has to go!”

“So you’re going to tell her why you really came up here then?” Molly asked quietly, and sat on the edge of her bed. “I thought that would compromise the case?”

“I don’t care, she’s impossible to deal with.” He sniffed. “I can’t solve this case with her nagging me to be with her every minute of the day!”

Molly narrowed her eyes at him and leaned forward slightly. “Why are you in my room?”

He glanced at her and then quickly away. “I can’t get into my room,” he grumbled.

“What did you do?” Molly sighed. She wasn’t exactly thrilled at the situation with Janine, but Sherlock was also difficult, and Janine had nowhere near the constitution to deal with the real him.

The consulting detective looked offended. “I didn’t do anything.”

“Alright. What did you say?” she corrected her statement.

Sherlock opened his mouth to say ‘nothing’, but then shut it again. When he replied it was very quietly, so quiet Molly couldn’t hear what he said.

“What was that?” Molly put a hand to her ear.

“I told her what I’ve been holding back since I married her.” He finally admitted, reticent to actually repeat what he had said to Molly. She would only get angrier with him, and that was the last thing he wanted. Never mind why.

“Sherlock!” Molly glared at him. “How could you?”

“You don’t even know what I said,” he pointed out sullenly.

“No, but I know you,” she retorted. “It must have been awful.” Everything was quiet for a moment. “Why?”

Sherlock had leaned back in his chair and had closed his eyes for that brief minute. “Why what?” he sighed.

“Why did you say what you said?”

He waved his hands airily. “She was distracting me from my work. Told me I had to stop ‘playing’ detective and fetishizing over men’s feet.” A bubble of laughter half a second later brought his head back up. Molly was turning red from keeping in a peal of giggles. “What in the world is so funny?”

“You fetishizing over men’s feet,” she repeated and finally broke down and let the laughs out. “She thinks you have a foot fetish!”

Sherlock scowled as Molly fell back on the bed and laughed heartily. A part of him was quite happy he had made her laugh, and relished in the sound of her happiness, but another was irritated she was laughing _at_ him. “I don’t think it’s that funny,” he stated flatly. “Frankly, I don’t see why you think it’s so hilarious either.”

“Oh, come now!” She gasped for breath and sat up on her elbows to look at him, a broad smile on her face. “Your wife thinks you have a thing for men’s feet. _That_ is one of the things that bothers her the most about you? It’s hilarious!”

“Because there are so many others.” He said quietly, forming it as a question. He knew he was far from perfect, but did Molly find that many flaws in him? “What bothers you the most about me, Molly?”

She sat up fully and frowned at him. His tone was deceptively casual, but when she looked in his eyes, she saw what she would have sworn was hurt. “Oh, Sherlock,” she said softly. “I didn’t mean it like that. I only meant she doesn’t know you. The real you.”

“But you do,” he pointed out. “What bothers you the most about me, Molly? I got abuse from one wife today, why not the other?” He almost got a pillow thrown at him. “Ah, I see it’s irresistible.”

“You are impossible!” Molly exclaimed, and stood. “Is there something else you wanted? I would like to get dressed.”

“Well, I didn’t come here to ogle you in a bathrobe, if that’s what you mean.” He snapped. She frowned at him and he closed his eyes, forcing himself to be patient. “I came here to see if we could complete that boot print. Forget comparing notes. Unless you learned something at the spa?”

She shook her head and blew up her cheeks, letting the air out slowly. “No, nothing at all. But isn’t your computer in Janine’s room?”

“No. I suspected something like this would happen and moved it to your room when I got my coat earlier.”

Molly’s eyes widened. “How- oh, I’m not even going to ask.” She shook her head and moved into the bathroom to dress. When she emerged, now dressed in a yellow jumper and jeans, Sherlock was already on his computer, initiating the program that would be able to complete the boot print electronically. She stood at the back of the chair and watched over his shoulder as the image slowly rendered. “What do you think this will do?” she asked quietly. “One boot print won’t find the person who’s taken the women.”

“No, but it will help me know precisely how large the person is, and what occupation he possesses. Although I am already eighty-percent sure of that now.” He said, scrutinizing the computer screen. “Probably a local fisherman, or has been here a long time and has experience on the water.” He added before she could ask: “He knows the loch well and can move quickly in and out of a boat. The partial print points to a boat shoe.”

“Alright,” she nodded. “So that only eliminates none of the men in the area,” she looked at him skeptically. “How will you know which man it is? Are you sure it’s a man?”

He glanced up at her impatiently. “Yes, of course I’m sure.”

“Alright. No need to get snippy,” she settled herself in the other armchair, which was opposite the one Sherlock sat in, her knees pulled up to her chin, her arms resting on top. There was silence for a few minutes before she spoke again. “I missed this sort of thing. On the island.” It was quietly said, and probably wouldn’t have been heard had there been any noise in the room besides the whirring of the computer as its software worked. Sherlock looked up at Molly immediately, but said nothing. She was talking about it on her own, and he wasn’t going to push her into anything more than what she was willing to give.

“Sitting down with a fire, in an actual chair,” she continued softly. “Soft cushions underneath me. An actual, real roof. It’s amazing how often we take those sorts of things for granted. I broke my arm once,” she looked at Sherlock and smiled. “It was awful. I had to use a piece of driftwood to set it.” He blinked, torn between guilt and belated worry at hearing of the injury.

“I’m sorry, Molly,” he murmured. “I truly am.”

“Oh, Sherlock,” she shook her head. “It’s not your fault. I know you did the best you could looking for me. The island was uncharted, how could you possibly have known it was there? Or even if you had, that I had survived to be on it? I don’t blame you one bit, and neither should you feel any guilt.”

Sherlock stared at her in awe. For the second time since she’d come back he found himself dumbfounded by her character. She had always been kind and far too patient with him, but this was something quite different. It seemed as if those traits had grown exponentially, and on top of that life on the island had made her more confident in herself. It was an odd, but not unbecoming mixture. The computer on his lap made a noise announcing its task was completed and he looked down, his thoughts about Molly Hooper pushed aside temporarily. “It’s done,” he said, and Molly got back up to peer over his shoulder. The fully rendered image showed a size 15 boat shoe, just as Sherlock predicted.

“So, what does this mean?” she asked patiently, giving him an opportunity to gloat about being right.

“It means I was right.” He said triumphantly, and Molly smiled inwardly at how predictable he actually was. “It’s definitely a man, one with experience on the water. He’s approximately six-foot-three, and two-hundred pounds, give or take.”

“Big man,” Molly murmured. “He shouldn’t be too hard to spot if he lives somewhere in the village.”

“No.” Sherlock placed his hands beneath his chin in the prayer position and closed his eyes. He was in his mind palace. She went to the phone and quietly ordered room service for herself and a little something for Sherlock. She didn’t know how long he would be in his mind palace, and was feeling hungry herself, and knew he almost never ate when on a case. In the time before the island, she had tried to get him to eat, and was surprisingly successful.

“Molly.” She started and looked over at him.

“Yes?”

“Don’t bother ordering for me. We’re going to Glasgow tomorrow to speak with Mr. Gregory.”

Molly put the phone down and shook her head. When would he learn to use segues? “We are?” she asked.

“Yes.” He replied and closed down his laptop.

She cleared her throat and crossed her arms. “What about Janine?”

He shook his head. “She’s still angry with me. Most likely won’t even notice I’m gone.”

“I doubt that,” Molly murmured. “Besides, you should apologize tonight. Not because I don’t think you should tell her the truth,” she added hastily. “But because it’s the right thing.”

Sherlock rolled his eyes, but stood up. “Fine,” he muttered. “I’ll apologize. But only because it would keep the cover in place.” He strode toward the door and Molly padded after him, carefully avoiding the muddy spots his shoes had left.

“I’m going to have ask the cleaning man to take care of those,” she tsked. “Honestly Sherlock, be more careful about what path you’re taking next time!”

He didn’t bother looking at the floor or responding to her chastisement. “Why haven’t you asked if Janine and I have been intimate?” He asked instead. The question completely took Molly by surprise and she blushed deeply.

“I didn’t think... I-I wouldn’t...” she looked down, momentarily thrust back to her pre-island days as a flustered girl in the presence of the man she had a crush on. “It hadn’t occurred to me, honestly.”

Sherlock clasped his hands behind his back looked at her thoughtfully. “Why?”

Molly wet her lips nervously. “Why are you asking?” she finally met his eyes again. It had really never occurred to her to ask, perhaps because of the case involvement or her inherent knowledge of Sherlock’s reticent nature when it came to sex. His mind mattered to him more than his body. Now that he had brought it up though, it was gnawing at her. “H-Have you?”

He looked at her for a long moment before replying, and she could tell he was deducing her. “No.” He finally said.

Molly’s eyes widened and she smacked his arm, completely taking him by surprise. “What was that for?” he exclaimed, and rubbed his arm.

“No wonder she’s unhappy with you!” Molly said angrily. “You’re on your honeymoon, Sherlock! A woman expects certain things!”

“You didn’t,” he pouted. The point to his bringing up the subject was completely lost now. _What had been the point exactly, Sherlock?_ John’s voice asked. Sherlock waved it away.

“I knew it was a ruse! Janine doesn’t!” Molly told him.

“Do you want me to go up now and have sex with her?” he asked flatly. “Will that make it right?”

“No!” Molly squeaked, her eyes wide and her face flushed, and then she pressed her lips together tightly. He raised an eyebrow at her response and wondered if there was more to her attitude than being angry at him for manipulating Janine. She had to compose herself before speaking again. “I just think you’re being exceptionally cruel to her. You need to stop this, Sherlock. Case or not.”

“I will in due time, Molly,” he said, and when she gave him a dubious look, he added “I promise.”

Molly heaved a sigh and nodded as she opened the door to her room. “Alright, Sherlock. I’ll give you two days. Two days and you need to tell Janine the truth.”

He was reluctant to agree to such an ultimatum, but when Molly threatened to do it herself anyway, he nodded. “Fine. Two days. That should be all I need anyway.”

“Good.” Molly smiled. “And good luck with Janine tonight. Oh!” She blushed and shook her head. “I don’t mean it that way, just... when you apologize...”

“Goodnight, Molly Hooper,” he said quietly, and leaned down to kiss her cheek.

“Goodnight, Sherlock,” she replied softly and closed the door gently when he left.

 

* * *

 

On the way up to his own room, Sherlock was mulling over what he had seen in Molly during their conversation. Body flushed, eyes wide, heart rate rapid. She had been nervous to hear his answer. Her body had relaxed and she had sighed softly in relief in the brief moment before slapping his arm when he had said no.

Perhaps Janine was right about Molly. Which begged the question, what did _he_ feel about _her_?

_Oh no, not doing that._ He shook his head vigorously, his curls bobbing violently. _Sentiment is no ally, Sherlock._ He steeled himself to forget about any _feelings_ he might have about Molly until after the case was over. Plenty of time for deciphering it all later, after Janine was out of his life and everything returned to normal. The elevator stopped and he strode out, resolved.

 

* * *

 

Molly spent the rest of the evening in her rooms, reading, watching telly, and trying to avoid thinking about Sherlock’s visit, at least the last part. What was the point in him asking about that? She couldn’t think of one that didn’t push her hopes up, and those she quickly pushed away. _Sherlock Holmes isn’t in love with you_. She told herself. _He’ll never be in love with anyone, much less you._ The reason for the question was probably some experimental one. If that was so, she would have to have a talk with him the next day, while they were in Glasgow. She wouldn’t tolerate behavior like that, not anymore. With that plan in mind, Molly turned off the television and slipped into bed, having finally convinced herself that the question had been nothing more than Sherlock having a laugh at her expense.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Molly and Sherlock visit Mr. Gregory in Glasgow, and it comes out Molly hasn’t been quite truthful about being alone on the island.

At six o’clock in the morning Molly awoke to a sudden and loud banging on her bedroom door. She grabbed the nearest thing to her that could be used as a weapon – a porcelain shepherd figurine on her bedside table, which had a twin shepherdess on the opposite table – and slowly made her way to the door. After peering through the peephole, she leaned her forehead against the door and sighed heavily. “What do you want, Sherlock?” she grumbled loudly.

“We’re going to Glasgow today, Molly.” The consulting detective’s annoyed voice replied, slightly muffled because of the door. “You can’t have forgotten.”

Molly groaned and shook her head, although she knew he couldn’t see her. “No, I didn’t forget. I just didn’t expect to have to be woken up so early! And rudely.” She added grumpily.  

“We must make an early start if we’re to be back in time,” he said crossly. “Do hurry up and dress!”

“Fine!” she snapped, fully irritated now. She stomped to the bathroom and had closed the door before realizing she was still holding the figurine. She walked back out only to yelp when she bumped into a Belstaff clad figure. “SHERLOCK!”

“Why are you holding that shepherd figurine?” he asked, and looked curiously at the object in question.

“I-I was startled when you pounded on my door,” she squeaked and was suddenly painfully aware of her lack of clothes. Having been used to being on a tropical island, comfort had conquered modesty, a habit that hadn’t yet been broken upon her return to England, and now she was used to wearing simply a pair of panties and a brassiere when sleeping. “Why are you in my room?” She asked, slowly taking a step backwards and hiding herself behind the bathroom door. “Please go away.”

Sherlock finally actually looked at her, realized the situation, and had the decency to turn slightly red in embarrassment. “Ah,” he cleared his throat and took a few steps back toward the door to her room. “I’ll meet you in the lobby,” he muttered and walked as quickly as he could out of her room.

Molly let out a long breath and closed the door to the bathroom, and allowed herself a moment of being angry and embarrassed before getting dressed. She silently berated the man for being rude and not respecting her privacy, and when she was done venting, she felt she could face him again. Though there might be a few choice words for him about his behavior. Molly dressed in jeans and her favorite (albeit new favorite, since her clothes had been given away years before) jumper, a dark green wool one. She put her hair up in a high ponytail and slipped her feet into practical, comfortable boots. Not even seven years on an island could wipe out her pragmatic sense of fashion. If anything, it served to amplify it. She had a brand new wardrobe, but with a few identical replacements to her former clothes (including a cherry covered cardigan which Molly had loved dearly). In any case, the outfit was good enough for the two-hour trip to Glasgow to see the husband of the latest victim.

She made her way downstairs to the lobby and found Sherlock sitting and fidgeting in a red armchair. He jumped up as soon as he saw her and pulled his Belstaff closed.

“Finally ready?” he asked, his tone clipped. “We do have to be back before five tonight.”

“Why before five?” Molly asked, and decided to overlook his completely unnecessary short attitude. “Did you make an appointment for something?”

“Janine,” he replied, making a face akin to having eaten something sour. “She insisted on dinner together.”

“Oh, fancy that, a wife wanting to have dinner with her husband,” Molly gasped. “You know, I do have a way of you getting out of it...” Sherlock looked at her in surprise and eagerly asked what the idea was. “Tell her you’re already married!”

Sherlock’s face quickly morphed from hopeful to irritated. “Molly, I’ve already explained to you why I can’t do that yet. I thought you understood.”

“I do understand, Sherlock. But you keep complaining about it, and it’s starting to get on my nerves.” Molly snapped. “Either grow up and tell her the truth, or shut your mouth about being in the giant mess _you_ created.”

Sherlock stared at the usually placid woman in shock, her outburst having taken him completely by surprise. “Molly, I...”

“Never mind, Sherlock,” she waved a hand and turned toward the entrance of the hotel. “I’m sorry. Forget it.”

Sherlock would have attempted to continue the discussion and find out what was really bothering Molly, but the look on her face when he opened his mouth to reply, made him reconsider. It was best, he decided to simply let her fume, if that is what she needed. Besides, he’d rather not have her berating him for anything on the long car-ride to Glasgow.

“Molly, can you drive?” Sherlock asked suddenly, and this time caught her by surprise.

“Can I? Well, technically yes, but I don’t have a license,” she crossed her arms over her chest and looked at him pointedly. “I’m dead, remember.”

“Oh, yes,” he sighed and rolled his eyes. “Very well.”

Molly narrowed her eyes to scrutinize him. “Why do you ask? Can’t you drive?”

“Yes,” Sherlock sniffed and stared ahead as they walked toward Janice’s car. He said nothing else until Molly pressed him. “I don’t like it,” he finally admitted, and stopped by the driver’s side door. “It’s boring.”

“Well, you’re most likely not the only person who thinks that,” Molly said as she climbed into the passenger’s seat. “Just promise you won’t fall asleep at the wheel.”

Sherlock was about to retort when his mobile rang. He rolled his eyes when he looked at who the caller was, and put a hand up to Molly to wait. “One moment, please, the Queen is calling.” He put the phone up to his ear and answered in a deceptively pleasant tone. “Hello, Mycroft.”

“Sherlock,” the reply came smoothly. “How are things with your wife- oh, excuse me, I mean _wives_.” Sherlock rolled his eyes; he was practically able to hear the smirk on his brother’s face.

“Very well, thank you. I’m assuming checking on my comfort was not the purpose of your call, Mycroft.” Sherlock pressed. He wanted to get the call over with as quickly as possible. There was still a case to solve.

“No, it was not.” Mycroft, while he took every chance he could to gloat whenever Sherlock was in discomfort, also liked to be succinct when it came to phone calls. “I have information on Miss Hooper’s time on the island I thought you would like to know.”

“Dr. Hooper, Mycroft. Her time on the island did not erase her degree.” Sherlock corrected and glanced at Molly, who had decided, when she heard the call was from Mycroft, to wait in the car. She knew it wouldn’t be a long call, not if Sherlock could help it. “What is it that you want to tell me?”

“ _Dr. Hooper,_ ” Mycroft’s voice was tinged with annoyance, “was not alone on that island.”

Sherlock froze. He was definitely surprised by the information, but he was slightly more irritated that Mycroft had been able to disturb him in such a way.

“I’ll take your silence as evidence Dr. Hooper did not previously inform you of that fact.” Mycroft’s tone had turned smug, which grated at Sherlock’s nerves.

“No, she didn’t,” Sherlock snapped. “I suppose you already know who it was.”

“Tom Addison, attorney. According to his testimony, Dr. Hooper saved his life. They spent the entirety of the seven years together before being rescued. They became rather... close.” Sherlock grit his teeth, but said nothing. He wouldn’t give his brother that satisfaction. “He has found out where she is now, and is on his way to Loch Crenan.”

“I’m sure you had nothing to do with that, whatsoever.” Sherlock couldn’t resist biting out.

“Brother dear, I’m hurt.” Mycroft replied with false pain. “I would never do such a thing.”

“No, of course not Mycroft. You’re just a caring brother.” Sherlock bit out. “Go back to your cake. I’m sure it misses your presence,” and before his brother had a chance to reply Sherlock hung up. His thoughts whirled around and around in his brain about this new piece of the ever growing puzzle of Molly Hooper. What he kept going back to, however, was why she hadn’t told him. He understood why she wouldn’t tell him everything about her experiences on the island, but surely having not been completely alone would have been one of the circumstances she did tell him about; and now the man was coming up to the loch. Probably to try to win Molly.

_Why do you care, Sherlock?_ John voiced from Sherlock’s mind palace.

“I don’t.” He snapped out loud.

“Sherlock?” Molly’s voice called to him from the car, laced with concern. She must have heard his sudden outburst. “Is everything alright?”

He turned around and smiled at her with what he hoped was reassurance. He decided then to not let Molly know he was aware of her secret. He had to have time to think before he asked her about it. “Of course. Let’s get on, shall we?” he strode back to the car and settled into the driver’s seat. The two hours it would take them to reach Glasgow would give him time to think over Mycroft’s news. Molly had spent seven years on a deserted island alone with a man. Unless that man was old, infirm, or a combination thereof, he couldn’t think of anything that would have prevented them from coupling.

The real question, the one mind palace-John had so rudely brought up, was why it bothered him so much.

 

* * *

 

Molly wondered what had occurred during that phone call, what Mycroft had said to Sherlock about her, because he didn’t say two words to her the entire time to Glasgow. A couple of noncommittal grunts here and there when she mentioned the scenery, but otherwise nothing. Only when she brought up what the plan would be when they reached Glasgow did he say anything, and it was only ‘I’m working on the plan’, and then back to silence. Spending two hours with a non-communicative Sherlock Holmes wasn’t really new to her, but there was a definite attitude change directed toward her. It wasn’t marked, after all he could have been in his mind palace, but this was not the case. Molly could tell he was upset with her specifically, she just had no idea why.

When they finally arrived at the place Mark Gregory lived and Sherlock got out of the car without so much as a glance at her, Molly decided she’d had quite enough. She jumped out and blocked his way to Gregory’s apartment building.

“Alright, Sherlock,” she glared at him. “What is going on?”

He gave her a blank look. “I don’t know what you mean.”

“You’ve been ignoring me since we left the hotel. What happened? Did Mycroft say something?” She asked, her frustration spilling over.

“Molly don’t be ridiculous,” Sherlock replied shortly. “He said nothing about you.” With that he stepped past her and up the stairs to the building’s door. Molly let a breath out slowly and turned to follow him. If he continued on insisting that nothing was wrong then she was going to call Mycroft herself and demand to know what had happened.

Sherlock pressed the intercom for Gregory’s flat and waited impatiently for the answer.

“Hello?” The voice that replied sounded stuffed and sad. “I’m not taking visitors.”

“Mr. Gregory, my name is Sherlock Holmes,” Sherlock had adopted a somber tone. “I want to solve your wife’s disappearance and I think you can help me.”

“I’ve already told the police... wait, did you say Sherlock Holmes? Come up.” The door to the building buzzed and Sherlock immediately stepped forward to open it.

“Gathered quite the reputation for yourself while I was gone, I see.” Molly remarked as she stepped through the door before Sherlock. “It’s nice that you’re helping people.”

“Yes, it’s wonderful. I find such joy in helping others.” Sherlock responded sarcastically as he followed her inside.

Molly rolled her eyes. That would be the way he would break his silence to her.

 

* * *

 

When they entered Gregory’s flat, after the introductions, the first thing that struck both Molly and Sherlock was the state of the place. It was practically spotless. Gregory either had OCD, or cleaning round the clock was his coping mechanism. The two visitors bet on the latter, as Gregory himself was sporting an apron and yellow rubber gloves.

“Please, have a seat,” he said. “I was just cleaning up... I can’t focus on anything else.”

“Of course,” Sherlock nodded and sat down on Gregory’s red-leather sofa; Molly sat beside him. “No, Mr. Gregory. What did you see that night?”

“I don’t know what I can tell you, Mr. Holmes,” Gregory interrupted, his voice hoarse. “I didn’t really _see_ much. I heard my wife scream, saw a strange shape through the mist, and that’s all. I would like to do what I can in order to bring my wife back, but that’s all I know.”

Sherlock narrowed his eyes at Gregory. “What was the shape?” he asked abruptly.

Gregory heaved a sigh and closed his eyes. “A... a round one, I think, that came to a sharp point. It was big. And... and there was a roaring.”

“Roaring?” Molly repeated with a frown.

“Yeah, like a... well, sort of like the T-Rex in Jurassic Park,” Gregory shrugged. “Like it was some sort of monster... then I heard her scream... I tried to get to her. I haven’t run so fast in my life... but I couldn’t find her in the mist...” his voice dropped to a choked whisper. “I couldn’t get to her in time.”

Molly glanced at Sherlock in time to speak before he had a chance to make an insensitive remark. “I’m so sorry, Mr. Gregory,” she spoke softly. “You did all you could, I’m sure.”

Gregory nodded and sniffed, then looked at Sherlock. “You’ll find her for me, won’t you? Please, find my wife.”

Sherlock met Gregory’s pained gaze and nodded slowly. “I’ll do my best, Mr. Gregory.”

“Thank you, Mr. Holmes.” Gregory nodded greatefully. “Thank you.”

“There is only one more question I have to ask before we will take our leave of you.” Sherlock added.

“What is it?”

“Was this your first trip to the loch?”

Gregory shook his head. “Actually no. Olivia and I had been up a year before. We liked it so much, we decided to spend our honeymoon there as well.”

“It’s a rather expensive place to go...

“Yeah,” Gregory shrugged. “But the hotel sent us a discount for our next visit.”

“Thank you, Mr. Gregory.” Sherlock said and swept out of the room, leaving Molly to express their goodbyes.

Once they were outside Molly turned to Sherlock. “Why ask about how many trips to Loch Crenan?”

“I have a theory,” he replied simply and strode round to the driver’s side of the car and got in. Molly stood for a moment on sidewalk and took a few deep breaths before entering the car as well. Sherlock was starting to get on her nerves, and she was just about ready to have it out with him and finally get to the bottom of his ridiculously childish attitude.

“I know that concrete can be fascinating, but can we please move it along?” Sherlock’s voice cut into her thoughts and she rolled her eyes.

“Yes, I’m coming, Sherlock. Patience is a virtue, you know.” She added as she got into the car.

“I wouldn’t say that I’m the most devout follower of virtues, would you?” he retorted as he steered the car back into traffic.

“No,” she murmured. “I suppose not.”

 

* * *

 

The trip back to Loch Crenan was as silent as the ride to Glasgow, if not more so because this time Molly decided not even to attempt small talk. It wasn’t as if he would reply, and she was now angry at him for his treatment of her. When they arrived back at the hotel, Molly slammed the door to the car hard as she got out, causing Sherlock to raise his eyebrows. Before he had a chance to say anything, however, he saw Molly stop dead in her steps and nearly drop her purse. Concern overcame his irritation at her. “Molly, what’s wrong?” he asked, and looked in the direction she was facing. A tall man, about Sherlock’s height, with light brown curly hair, dressed in a casual suit and long, dark trench coat was walking toward them, a wide smile on his face.

“Molls!” He exclaimed, and suddenly Molly was swept up into his arms in a tight hug. Sherlock stared dumbfounded, but he quickly recovered enough to realize this had to be Tom Addison. The man in whose company Molly had spent seven years. The man who was now hugging her far too familiarly.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Whew! A new chapter! Sorry for how long it took to get it up! Hope you all enjoy! 
> 
> Thank you everyone for leaving a kudos and commenting! It really makes my day to see how many people enjoy this fic!


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock and Molly return from Glasgow to find an angry wife and an old lover awaiting them.

Surprise didn’t begin to cover what Molly Hooper felt at Tom Addison being at Loch Crenan.

Confusion, anger, embarrassment. She was experiencing all of those and more, including irritation at how intimately he was holding her. She pulled away quickly and took a step back.

“Tom!” she exclaimed. “What are you doing here?”

“I’ve come for you.” He replied with a wide smile. He caught sight of Sherlock behind Molly (completely missing the shadow of pure rage that crossed over Molly’s face at his words) and his smile dropped slightly.

“Molly, you’re being very rude,” Sherlock said pleasantly, before she could say anything. “I believe introductions are in order.”

Molly shook her head and cleared her throat. She didn’t quite feel like being civil to either man. “Sherlock Holmes, Tom Addison,” she snapped irritably. “Tom Addison, Sherlock Holmes.”

Sherlock Holmes held his right hand out for Tom to take. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Tom.”

 “It’s very nice to meet you, Sherlock. I’ve heard a lot about you,” Tom replied as he took Sherlock’s hand. “Molly told me all about your adventures. I’m Tom Addison. Molly and I survived together on the island.”

Sherlock politely returned Tom’s handshake and glanced at Molly. The glare seemed to be permanently fixed on her elfin face. “Did you now? I’ve heard nothing of you.” He said bluntly.

“Well,” Tom chuckled and put an arm around Molly’s shoulders. “She is a bit absent-minded at times.”

“Apparently,” Sherlock said, with a pointed look at Molly. “Must have been the sun exposure.”

“Must have,” Molly agreed and turned quickly, and shrugged Tom’s arm off, which had managed to snake its way over her shoulders. “Let’s go Tom. We need to talk.” She hurried toward the hotel with Tom smiling in a confused manner as he followed. Sherlock watched them go, a dark look on his face. He didn’t like Tom, not one bit. It had nothing to do, however, with his growing feelings for Molly ( _what feelings? There aren’t any feelings!_ ).

He shook his head as he brushed all thoughts of Molly out of his mind for the present. There was a case to solve. He didn’t have time for this sentimental mess. He needed to look through the hotel’s guest records.

With new determination he strode toward the lobby.

 

* * *

 

When Molly and Tom arrived in her hotel room, she immediately whirled on him. “What do you mean you’ve come for me?” she asked, bewildered. “There is no ‘coming for me’! I’m not going anywhere with you!”

 “I know we parted on less than friendly terms,” he replied, and took a step towards her. “But I realized how much I missed you, and how much of an ass I was on the island. I couldn’t go through a day without thinking of you and telling you how sorry I am. I want to give us another try.”

“Tom,” Molly sighed and sat down heavily on the edge of her bed. “We talked about this when we got back. What we had on the island... it won’t work here. We were barely working on the island. That’s why I said it was over.”

“Okay, Molls,” Tom nodded and smiled as he sat in one of the armchairs by the fireplace. “But I think we were put on that island for a reason. I love you, and I think you love me. So I’m going to try to win you back.”

“Tom...” Molly shook her head despondently. “That might have been true three years ago, but not now.”

Tom looked down at the rug with an understanding nod, but smiled hopefully. “Well, maybe that’s so, but I’m going to give my best effort at changing that.”

“You are a stubborn one,” she smiled a little. “But it won’t do you much good. I’m moving on, and you should too.” She stood up and moved toward the door, indicating she was ready for him to leave. Tom stood up and followed her slowly, and before going out the now opened door turned to her.

“Moving on?” he repeated thoughtfully. “Somehow, with Sherlock Holmes around, I don’t think you can.”

 

* * *

 

Sherlock’s lobby experience wasn’t as fruitful as he had hoped. The manager wasn’t easily distracted, which irritated Sherlock. He needed to get onto the computer’s records. However, it wasn’t going to happen considering how chatty the manager’s mood was that evening. Sherlock spent a good hour stuck in conversation with the insufferable man. All he learned was that the manager might be coming down with a cold and yes, every guest who had ever stayed at the hotel had a wonderful time and always left a wonderful review. After another half hour, marked by other guests going to dinner, including Tom (sans Molly, Sherlock was pleased to note), and the sun disappearing outside.

“Is that woman calling for you,” Sherlock pointed to a woman just walking out of the dining room, in deep conversation with another woman, who didn’t look at all like she had just called for assistance. The manager perked up and hurried toward the woman, eager to prove the hotel was superior in service. Sherlock took the opportunity to hurry away. If he couldn’t get into the hotel records, then he could work in his room on studying the history of the missing persons and their spouses. Then later, when the hotel was asleep, he could sneak back down and hack into the computer to get what he needed. He headed up to his room, taking the elevator and instantly regretting it, as there was a very amorous couple who had just gotten on just before the doors closed. He thought after that he would take the stairs whenever possible.

Sherlock had no idea when he entered the hotel room he and Janine occupied that he would be confronted by a very angry wife.

“We need to have a talk, Sherlock!” She snapped.

_Sherlock. Interesting. She never uses my proper name._ “About what?” he asked casually, and moved toward his computer bag, which lay on the room’s desk. The room itself was small, so he only needed about two steps before he was at the old fashioned, mahogany roll-top desk.

“About us! Sherlock, I- where are you going now?” she exclaimed shrilly as he grabbed his computer bag and began to walk back toward the door.

“I need to think and if you are going to be talking, I can’t think here.” He replied simply.

“Oh no you don’t!” And with speed Sherlock hadn’t known she possessed, Janine darted to the door and planted herself in front of it, blocking his way. “We are going to talk! You are my husband!”

“That’s not a reason, that’s a fact. In either case, I don’t have time to talk. Move.” He took a step forward but his wife didn’t budge. “Please.” He grit out.

“No,” she poked a finger into his chest. “You are going to explain to me why we haven’t had sex and why you’re always following that Molly person around! You’ve spent more time with her on this holiday than with me!” She started to tear up and Sherlock began to panic, having no idea what to do with a crying thing. He went stone-faced and decided to just tell Janine the truth. All of it, except who Molly really was. For some reason he didn’t try to discern he wanted that to be kept a secret.

The silence after he finished explaining the situation was exactly what Sherlock had expected. Even when Janine’s hand flew toward his face he was ready, and he dodged it and twisted around, but he was less than prepared for her foot meeting his ass. After that she started to shout obscenities he hadn’t even fathomed she knew and began to push him out of the room. Before he knew what had happened he found himself standing in the hallway surrounded by his clothes and his suitcase, and his computer bag came flying at his head. He caught that hard to his chest and stood, dumbfounded, before a closed door. He could hear sobbing from the other side and sighed. Why couldn’t people just be more rational?

In any case, he now had to find another place to sleep. Molly’s room was out of the picture, as that might give Janine the ridiculous notion that he and Molly had a relationship. No, Sherlock would just have to ask the manager for a new room. Embarrassing as it might be, that’s what needed to be done. He picked up his clothes as and tossed them haphazardly back into the suitcase, and trekked down to the lobby.

He stopped in front of the desk, where the manager was standing and going over something on the computer. The man quickly minimized the page he was on and smiled at Sherlock. “Can I help you, Mr. Holmes?”

“I would like to get another room,” Sherlock replied gruffly.

The manager put on a concerned expression. “Is there something wrong with your current room, sir?”

“No. I just need an additional room. Is that possible?” Sherlock snapped.

“L-let me check sir... There is a free room. It’s not large, but it overlooks the loch...”

“Yes, that will do.” Sherlock affirmed impatiently. He had work to do and Janine had caused an unnecessary interruption.

“Here is the key sir, Room 214.”

“Thank you,” Sherlock quickly grabbed the key and started for the stairs, just as the elevator opened and released a female couple to the lobby. _They’re both cheating on their girlfriends._ Sherlock deduced as he passed them. He trudged up the stairs to the second floor of the hotel and found that his new room was next door to Molly Hooper’s room. “Of course,” he muttered irritably and savagely thrust the key into the lock of 214 and entered his new room.

 Once inside he began to unpack his computer, leaving his suitcase lying haphazardly on a chair near the door. He heard his mobile go off as he was working – a text from John – and stood up, walking over to the window to get better reception for his answer. As he stood there urgently texting John to join him at the loch, he noticed that over the dark expanse of the water, lights popped up on the opposite shore. Nothing too unusual really if it had been on the western shore, but the lights were on the southern shore.

No one lived over there and it was too dark for anyone to have wandered over there on purpose. He thought it was just as unlikely, as there weren’t too many tourists at the loch this time of year (except for honeymooning – or cheating – couples), that it was a visitor to Crenan. The lights made him curious, but they were hardly fascinating. What did catch his attention was the sudden cry for help in the hotel’s courtyard. Sherlock slipped his phone into his trouser pocket and rushed out of his room, bumping into Molly as he went, who was already standing in the corridor.

“What’s going on?” she asked, her eyes wide. “I heard a cry.” And then she realized from where he had come. “Why did you come out from that room?” He didn’t reply, only kept going, but was very conscious of her as she followed him. They arrived downstairs to the lobby to find a crowd surrounding a man kneeling on the floor, hysterical.

Molly rushed forward to help, her doctor’s instinct kicking in immediately. She knelt beside the man as she ordered the other people except the manager of the hotel, who was also beside the distraught patron, and Sherlock to move aside.

“Sir, calm down. I’m a doctor. Just take a deep breath. That’s it,” Molly took the man’s wrist between her fingers to take his pulse. “Tell us what happened. Is anyone hurt?”

“My wife!” he wailed. “The monster took her! He took her into the Loch! She’s... she’s gone!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A new chapter at last! University has been killing my creativity! Thanks for your patience everyone and all the kudos!


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Molly and Sherlock's investigation continues and they find exactly what is taking the women.

**_Previously_ **

_There was sudden cry for help in the hotel’s courtyard. Sherlock slipped his phone into his trouser pocket and rushed out of his room, bumping into Molly as he went, who was already standing in the corridor._

_“What’s going on?” she asked, her eyes wide. “I heard a cry.” And then she realized from where he had come. “Why did you come out from that room?” He didn’t reply, only kept going, but was very conscious of her as she followed him. They arrived downstairs to the lobby to find a crowd surrounding a man kneeling on the floor, hysterical._

_Molly rushed forward to help, her doctor’s instinct kicking in immediately. She knelt beside the man as she ordered the other people except the manager of the hotel, who was also beside the distraught patron, and Sherlock to move aside._

_“Sir, calm down. I’m a doctor. Just take a deep breath. That’s it,” Molly took the man’s wrist between her fingers to take his pulse. “Tell us what happened. Is anyone hurt?”_

_“My wife!” he wailed. “The monster took her! He took her into the Loch! She’s... she’s gone!”_

 

* * *

 

 

After the man was taken by the hotel manager to his office, accompanied by a constable from the village. Sherlock had wanted to interview the man with the constable, but Molly held him back.

“The constable is not going to appreciate you, a private citizen, interfering on his job,” she had told him when he protested. “You can talk to the poor man after the constable has interviewed him. Have a little patience.”

Sherlock had protested, insisting the constable wouldn’t do the job properly, but after her stern look begrudgingly listened and led the way to his new room.

“By the way, why are you in the room next to mine?” She asked as she stepped inside.

Sherlock grimaced slightly and didn’t answer until he closed the door. “I told Janine about the case and her part in it and she threw me out.” He spoke quickly and without inflection, his eyes looking at a point just above her, then stood motionless and scowled as Molly began to giggle.

“I’m sorry,” she cleared her throat and forced the smile off her face. “It’s rather funny though. But you did the right thing. So she knows about me too?” When he didn’t answer straight away she frowned. “Sherlock?”

“No.”

“What?” Molly blinked repeatedly, confused. “Why not?”

“She only wanted to know why we hadn’t been intimate. I told her what was relevant.” He replied simply. “Your situation didn’t come up. In all likelihood she will file for divorce and there will no longer be a problem.”

Molly put her hands on her hips and glared up at him. “That will work out just fine for you eventually. But what about me, Sherlock? Right now?”

“You’re fine right now.” He didn’t understand. “You’re helping me with this case.”

She sighed and sat down wearily in a nearby armchair and placed a hand over her eyes. “I want to go home, Sherlock. I want to be alive again.” She said quietly.

The room was silent and Molly thought that maybe Sherlock had slipped into his mind palace to avoid a possibly awkward conversation, but she felt two hands gently grasp hers and she opened her eyes. Sherlock was kneeling in front of her with an expression she had never seen before on his face, one she could only assume was a mixture of concern and guilt. She thought it was another of his ruses, that he was manipulating her to help him continue solving the case. However, his face seemed so sincere she couldn’t believe he was lying to her.

“I’m sorry, Molly,” he said softly. “I won’t ask you to continue helping me with this case. I have no right. But I do need to solve the case, and you are the not only the best pathologist I have ever known, and, if you will, the only person I want helping me now.”

Molly blushed and looked down at their hands. “Thank you, Sherlock,” she murmured, and smiled. “I’ll help, as long as you promise to tell Janine.” She forced her face to become stern as she met his eyes.

Sherlock nodded. “I promise. Now,” he jumped up and offered a hand to her. “Shall we keep on investigating?”

Molly laughed in fond exasperation, amazed how quickly he could bounce from solemn to excited, and took his hand as she stood up. “Alright. What’s next?”

“We need to get across the lake,” he replied.

“What’s across the lake?” she asked, puzzled.

“I saw lights there earlier. There is something over there, possibly connected to the case.”

“Possibly? Can we really risk crossing the lake at night for a possibly?” she looked at him dubiously. “Shouldn’t we wait until tomorrow?”

“There is no danger, Molly,” Sherlock said confidently. “The weather is clear and the water is calm. Besides that, we’ll take a rowboat. Silent and not dependent on the wind.”

“Alright,” she agreed reluctantly. “But you’re doing the rowing.”

 

* * *

 

They waited another hour before they headed out, as it was mutually decided it was better venture out after everything and everyone at the hotel had calmed down. Sherlock had a boat waiting for them at the hotel dock. How he had found a boat so quickly was beyond Molly. When she asked, all he did was shoot her a ‘don’t be a bore’ look and insist she hurry onto the little vessel.

The water on the loch was still and dark, not even the moon was out to light the way across. All that Molly and Sherlock had to guide them was the little, twinkling orange lights on the opposite shore. Molly was glad she had brought her coat along, because it was cold on the water. Even Sherlock had his Belstaff pulled tightly about him, the collar turned up to shield his neck. She had always had a personal preference for that look, but only on her deathbed would she admit that to him. It would only embarrass her and boost his already titan-sized ego.

It only took them about twenty-five minutes to reach their destination, something which could only be attributed to Sherlock’s physicality, something Molly appreciated beyond attraction. She was freezing and he rowed quickly. She helped him pull the little boat ashore, made sure it was secured, and then the two walked toward the direction of the lights. The spheres hadn’t gone out, which must have meant that whoever had lit them didn’t know they had been noticed.

“So what’s the plan?” Molly asked, a little breathless from trying to keep up with Sherlock’s long strides over the rocky ground.

“We observe.” He looked back and slowed up abruptly so she could keep up. “If it’s what I believe it is, we alert the authorities.”

“And what do you think it is?” She asked but before he could answer she tripped on large rock and flailed her arms desperately. He reached out and wrapped an arm around her waist, saving her from falling down but also tugging her close against his chest. Molly gasped and looked up at him. His face was somehow only inches from hers and she couldn’t pull her gaze from his eyes. He looked as if he were making a decision and she felt his other arm slowly come to rest on her waist, while one hand slid up her back to cradle the back of her neck. His breathing seemed as short as hers. Molly gripped his coat lapels tightly in her hands and tried to swallow, but her mouth was dry. “S-Sherlock?” she whispered. He appeared to wake up and frowned, suddenly releasing her, and cleared his throat.

“I’ll let you know if I’m right,” he answered her former question cryptically and abruptly continued walking.

Molly blinked and exhaled the breath she hadn’t realized she’d been holding. She didn’t know what had almost happened, but if she read (and felt) his body language right, it was something not only she but _he_ wanted to happen. She grinned and almost skipped along behind Sherlock.

 

* * *

Sherlock lost himself in his mind palace as he walked, shocked at what had almost occurred. He knew he felt an attraction to Molly, had felt it before, but hadn’t realized until he’d almost kissed her just a few moments ago how strong it was. He went back over the event in his head. She had tripped, almost fallen, he’d reached out to keep her from being injured, and he had pulled her up against his chest to help her rebalance. She was so close, her eyes had been so wide and her lips so inviting his mind almost blanked and all he knew was that he wanted to kiss her. Her small voice had woken him, fortunately, and he’d dropped her. He mumbled something and walked away as fast as he could. He did want to kiss her, but the middle of a case, while also being married to another woman, seemed like the improper time. Or was it? Perhaps it wouldn’t have been such bad timing... he was going to solve this case quickly enough. Then he’d divorce Janine and ask Molly... Ask her what? Relationships weren’t his thing.

_Caring is not an advantage._

Sherlock remembered how he felt when he was told Molly had been lost at sea. It affected him far greater than he had expected. He had thrown himself into his work over the last seven years and for the first three after her ‘death’ he had reacquainted himself with cocaine. Only meeting and becoming friends with John had helped him recover.

Then he remembered how it felt when he saw her for the first time, alive and well. It was one of the best feelings he’d ever experienced; and now she was helping him with another case, as if almost no time had passed. Molly next to him, solving a crime, seemed... right.

Perhaps caring wasn’t a disadvantage.

He didn’t have a lot of time to consider that prospect as they had reached the edge of the darkness and were close enough to the lights – which they could now see were actually solar lamps – to see what they surrounded. There was a large cave entrance, large enough for a good-size boat to fit through, except there was already something beached in the entrance, shielded from being seen by the little town across the lake.  

Sherlock felt Molly slip her hand into his and grip it tightly, unsure of what the thing was in the cave. Sherlock frowned and pulled a torch he’d had in his pocket out, turning its light on the giant form before them.

“I think we found our monster.” Sherlock said dryly, for the something in the entrance to the cave was actually a boat covered in a tarp which was made to look like a creature akin to the fabled Loch Ness monster.

“That’s... elaborate,” Molly remarked with a scowl and released Sherlock’s hand as she stepped forward. “What is going on here?”

Sherlock didn’t answer.

“Sherlock?” Molly turned and frowned when she saw he wasn’t there. “Where did he go?”

“Molly.” She started and turned to find him behind her. “There isn’t a ladder.” Molly squinted at him in confusion.

“What?”

“There’s not a ladder. I can’t get up into this thing without help.” He looked at her expectantly.

“I’m not giving you a boost, if that’s what you mean!” She scoffed. “Unless you want me to break something!”

He sighed. “I suppose I could lift you in,” he grumbled. Molly looked at the tarp-covered ship and back to Sherlock.

“What makes you think there’s anything in there to look at?” she asked, hesitant to climb in, unsure of what she might find.

“Call it intuition,” he said sarcastically and leaned down, cupping his hands. “Now come on, Dr. Hooper.”

She made a distressed noise but put her foot into his cupped hands, squeaking in surprise when he lifted her easily and quickly up. “Not so fast!” she hissed. “I still need to get this tarp open!”

“Here,” Sherlock pushed a pocketknife at her face. “Hurry up. You’re surprisingly heavy.” A foot came down hard on his shoulder, causing him to stumble. “Ouch!”

“Serves you right,” Molly said angrily, and grabbed the knife from him. “I gained a lot of muscle on the island, alright? Muscle adds weight too.”

“Alright,” Sherlock looked up at her with a grimace. “Sorry.”

A moment later there came a ripping sound and Molly disappeared from his hands. He took the opportunity to rub his sore shoulder and grumble about women being too sensitive about their weight.

“Sherlock!” He was brought to attention by Molly’s cry.

“What is it? Molly?” His voice was tinged with worry, but his fears were allayed when her head popped out of the opening she had cut into the ‘monster’.

“I found cages!” She whispered, her brown eyes wide. “And these were inside one of them.” She pushed a woman’s purple coat and an empty syringe over the side and to Sherlock, who caught them expertly. “Whoever is taking the women are drugging them and locking them in these cages!”

Sherlock grinned up at Molly, who scowled in response.

“What are you smiling about?”

“I was right!” He said. “It’s traffickers! They lure the couples onto the beach or out on the loch at night, use this ship to scare them, grab the woman, and come back here. Simple, but effective.” He felt something lap against his foot and looked down. The tide was coming in and soaking his shoes. He sighed in disgust.

“That’s terrible!” Molly’s eyes widened even further, unaware of Sherlock’s discomfort. “But wait,” she frowned. “There has to be somebody helping them. Someone with authority in town to tell the couples when to go out at night. And since every one of the couples has come from the hotel...” she gasped. “The manager!”

“Exactly,” Sherlock was quite pleased she’d figured it out on her own. “He’s not able to afford those suits on his own pay.”

“Right,” she laughed. “That’s how you figured out it was him.” She swung one leg over the side of the boat and tried to tug her other leg over. “Damn it. My foot’s tangled in some wire or something. Help me down.”

He rolled his eyes but was about to acquiesce when harsh voices floated out from the cave entrance, and were steadily getting closer. Molly and Sherlock both paused to gauge how close they were and when torch-light came into view from the darkness of the cave, they went into immediate action. Sherlock reached up and tried to help Molly pull her other leg over the side. He felt his heart begin to race, not from adrenaline and excitement, but real fear for Molly. He grabbed her waist and tugged, but only succeeded in ripping her coat pocket.

“Think Burton’s got our next mark ready?” a voice growled, dangerously close.

“Sherlock, get out of here!” Molly hissed and pulled back, disappearing with a thump into the boat.

“Shit!” Sherlock bounced a moment on the balls of his feet, unsure of what to do. If he left her, she might get seriously injured, or worse, but if he stayed and both of them were caught, they would definitely be killed. He growled in frustration and ran toward a low sand dune, skidding as he hid behind a large rock. He peered up over the dune and watched as four men scrambled onto the boat, unzipping a flap on the opposite side from where Molly had gone in. He held his breath, waiting for the inevitable moment they would find her but it didn’t come. They started the motor of the boat and slowly made their way from the increasingly deep water near the cave, the tide aiding their movement.

Once out on the water, a film of mist, due most likely to a fog machine, Sherlock concluded, shrouded the ship in white and made the silhouette quite intimidating. He could understand why the couples were so disturbed. He slowly stood and, assured he was out of sight, raced back to the little boat he and Molly had taken. He needed to follow the ship and rescue Molly somehow.

“John,” he had pulled his phone out and was now feeling the brunt force of a man awoken from sleep. Sherlock staunchly ignored him. “I know what’s going on and I need you out here. And bring Lestrade with you. And hurry.”

“What? What’s happened?” John asked, concerned. Sherlock’s tone was not triumphant, but anxious.

“Molly’s sort of... stuck. With sex traffickers. On a boat.”

“SHE’S WHAT?”

“John.” Sherlock pleaded.

“Alright, alright. We’re on our way. Just don’t lose her.”

“I don’t intend to,” Sherlock said grimly and hung up. “Not again.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another chapter up! Yay! Thanks to all of you who have been so, so, so patient for the next chapter!


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Emotions run high after Sherlock helps Molly, and John arrives with our favorite NSY inspector.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all for the comments, kudos, and for your unending patience in awaiting a new chapter! I hope you enjoy it! Let me know in the comments what you think!

Sherlock followed the trafficker’s vessel all the way to the opposite shoreline, where they idled. It seemed as if they were waiting for something.

“Their next victims,” Sherlock murmured to himself. He squirmed agitatedly in his seat, which caused the little boat to sway dangerously in the water. He wanted to charge aboard the boat and save Molly, but caution and reason were thankfully overpowering his emotional instincts (the realization that he had an emotional reaction shocked him). He watched and waited patiently for more than an hour before anything happened. He was close enough to the trafficker’s boat that he heard them raise their voices in anger.

“I thought he was going to pull through tonight,” one nearly shouted. “We only need one more!”

“Be quiet you idiot! You want to wake up the entire town?” another hissed angrily. “Be patient. He always comes through. There’ll be one. It’s early yet.”

Sherlock edged even closer to the ship, determined to get Molly off of it, even if it meant fighting the four dangerous men aboard. He rounded the aft of the traffickers’ ship with his dingy and made his way to the side where she had gone in. All the while the arguing picked up pace as the two other men started arguing with the second voice, who Sherlock determined must be the leader.

“He’s never late!”

“We’re going to get caught!”

“Shut up all of you!”

Sherlock felt remarkably fortunate. If they hadn’t been arguing, he probably would have been found out. He slowly stood up, balancing carefully as the boat wobbled precariously in the water. He gripped the side of the traffickers’ ship and hauled himself up, careful to first tie his boat’s rope around his waist so it didn’t float away. He slid inside and hit the wooden floor with a small thump.

 “Sherlock!” Molly’s wide brown eyes were the first thing he say when his eyes adjusted to the darkness of the tarp. She was lingering near a makeshift wall of curtains opposite from him. “Are you alright?”

“Yes. Let’s go,” he crouched (the tarp hung a bit too low for him to stand) and grabbed her hand, eager to get her out, but she held back.

“Wait,” she whispered. “What about the woman they’re trapping tonight? We have to help her.”

Sherlock was amazed at how Molly could think of another person in their situation but then felt annoyed at her reticence. He had, after all, risked being caught himself to save her. “I’ve called John. He and Lestrade will be here in a couple of hours. Besides, from what they’ve been saying, I don’t think anyone will be out tonight. Can we please go now before they catch us?” He tugged on her hand but she still resisted.

“Who’s John?” she asked, frowning in confusion, and Sherlock remembered that he had never told her about John. He’d been so tied up with the case and figuring out what to do about the Janine situation he had completely neglected to tell Molly of his best friend.

“A friend. Now let’s go,” he whispered urgently. He heard the traffickers walking toward their position and hoped desperately they couldn’t hear he and Molly. When Molly turned toward the noise she made a frustrated sound in her throat and made for the opening in the tarp. Sherlock sighed in relief and hurried after her. They clambered over the side as quietly as they could, but Molly’s short height made it impossible to avoid a small leap back into Sherlock’s boat.

“What are you waiting for?” Sherlock snapped when she hesitated, clinging to the railing of the traffickers’ boat.

“It’s high, you git,” she hissed back. “I have to jump.”

“Then jump.”

“I’ll make noise,” she looked up at him and bumped his nose with hers because he had moved to follow her and was already halfway out himself. “Or I... I’ll fall in the water,” she whispered, suddenly breathless, he noticed.

“I’ll fish you out,” he stated bluntly, too anxious to be flustered by her nearness. “Go.”

Molly rolled her eyes and looked down, whined, closed her eyes and half slid, half jumped back toward the dingy beneath her. She managed to drop into it, but fell onto her side gracelessly, which consequently made a noise. She scrambled into a sitting position and looked up at Sherlock apologetically. Sherlock’s heart stopped for a second when he heard one of the men aboard the monster-boat ask if anyone else had heard that noise. He took the chance to quickly follow after her. His drop into the boat was almost noiseless, of course, and he immediately started rowing away.

“Get down,” he whispered to Molly, who nodded and slipped into as comfortable a supine position as she could manage on the dingy. After reached the aft of the small ship he stopped, stilled the boat as best he could, and dropped down next to her, or more accurately, half on top of her. He heard her breath hitch and glanced down her, concerned. She met his gaze with wide eyes and from what he could tell in the dark, a full on blush. He blinked, at the same time surprised and gratified to see such a reaction to him in her.

“They can’t find us here.” He whispered, thinking it was necessary and saw her hair flutter under his breath.

“What?” she frowned in response.

“It’s a blind spot. The tarp impedes them in addition to a cage,” he explained, then tilted his head upward to listen to what was happening with the traffickers’.

“It was over here,” one of the men, the first voice Sherlock had heard, had reached their intrusion spot on the ship. “Hey! Someone’s cut into this!”

Feet thumped hurried and torches flashed in the night. Sherlock settled lower and closer to Molly, his dark Belstaff enveloping both of them. He hoped it would be enough to keep them hidden. If they tried to move away now, they’d be spotted for certain. He looked down at Molly again who was biting her bottom lip anxiously. Her breathing was quick and he felt her grip his coat lapels tightly in her hands, inadvertently drawing his face closer. When her eyes met his he noticed they first glanced at his lips and then purposely closed. He could feel her shake underneath him, which confused him for a moment, because she had been perfectly steady when surrounded by the dangerous women-kidnapping-and-selling men.

“You’re shaking.” he couldn’t help saying, framing it as a question.

“I’m scared,” she replied, her voice hoarse.

Sherlock narrowed his eyes. “You are lying, Dr. Hooper.”

Molly opened her eyes. “Shh,” she admonished. “They’ll hear us.”

Sherlock glanced up at the ship. Their quarry were running frantically around the ship, attempting fruitlessly to find whoever had been aboard or caused the tear in their tarp. They were making too much noise amongst themselves to hear anything near the back of the ship.

“I don’t think so,” he murmured and tilted his head forward, his lips a millimeter from hers. He heard her breath catch and her hands gripped his coat tighter. So it was his proximity that elicited that reaction. He had noticed it in the earlier incident and had been curious to confirm if the attraction was mutual. He decided that the situation required further investigation and pressed his lips gently to hers.

 

* * *

 

Molly almost stopped breathing. Her white-knuckle grip on his grip only got tighter when he moved as if he were going to kiss her. For the second time that night she was close enough to him to simply purse her lips and touch his. She looked into his eyes and her stomach fluttered. Then everything stopped when he actually kissed her. She hadn’t expected to be that close to him twice in one night, much less for anything to actually happen.

The last thing he must have expected, though, was for her to boldly press her lips into his and turn the chaste kiss into something much more passionate. For as she slipped her hands along his neck and curled her fingers in his hairs she felt him stiffen in surprise, then groan and press his body closer to hers; his hands found their way to her waist and gently gripped her there; she felt his fingers dig into her skin and relished the sensation.

Their kiss was brief, for only a minute later they heard the traffickers start the engine of their ship and broke apart, both trying to catch their breath. They felt the wake of the ship as it moved away and made its way back to its hidden cove. Sherlock cleared his throat and looked down at Molly.

“We should get back to the hotel,” he murmured. Molly nodded.

“Yeah,” she looked up at him shyly and smiled. She watched as he blinked and gingerly rose to take the oars, his expression unreadable. Molly sat up and wrapped her arms around herself, suddenly cold without his body heat to warm her. Their journey back to the hotel was made in a mostly awkward silence, though he did explain who John was. As he did, Molly felt a growing warmth and indebtedness toward the doctor, though she’d never met him. He had gotten Sherlock out of danger more than once and had saved him from killing himself with drugs. A hug was in order when John Watson arrived at the loch.

When they reached their rooms there was an uneasy pause, as neither one of them knew how to say goodnight to the other. Molly feared the moment of intimacy had ruined what relationship she did have with Sherlock.

She decided to take the first step and attempt normalcy. “Some night. Um, thank you for saving me, S-Sherlock.” She cursed the return of her stutter. He was the only person in the world who could still instigate it.

“Did you think I was going to leave you there?” he asked, a brow raised in amusement.

“N-No.” She blushed. “I just thought you should know I-I appreciate it.” He nodded and there was another silence before she cleared her throat and decided it was best to just ignore what had happened. He obviously was. “Um, goodnight, Sherlock.”

Molly moved to open her room’s door but Sherlock’s hand on her arm stopped her. She looked up at him and her mouth opened slightly in surprise. He looked so vulnerable.

“Molly...” he licked his lips and looked indecisive.

“Sherlock?” Molly touched his hand where it still lay on her arm. The small movement made him flinch as if burned but he didn’t pull away. Instead his hand gripped her tighter and he pulled her against him, and Molly found herself once again in Sherlock’s passionate embrace. He backed her up against the door to her hotel room, his hands moving to cradle her neck as he kissed her. Molly wrapped her arms around his waist, underneath his coat; her fingers clutched at the back of his shirt as she met his open-mouthed, a bit sloppy kisses, with her own. Maybe it was the adrenaline from that night, perhaps it was him realizing some sort of affection for her, Molly didn’t know which and at that moment really didn’t care. He had her fully pressed up against the door, his body barring her from any movement, and she loved it.  

Until she wondered if he had ever done the same thing with Janine.

Sherlock must have sensed her uneasiness because he suddenly pulled back. She met his narrowed eyes but then looked away, though she was sure he had already deduced what she had been thinking.

“I have kissed her, and I had to make it somewhat convincing.” He admitted, proving her right. “It wasn’t pleasant, if that’s any consolation.”

“Not really, but thanks.” Molly sighed and rested her head against the door as she looked up at him, her hands now resting on his forearms. “We shouldn’t anyway. You’re a married man, Mr. Holmes.”

He looked at her quizzically. “Married to you and Janine?”

Molly smiled sadly and shook her head slowly. “No,” she replied gently. “You’re married to your work, remember. I don’t think you have room for a mistress.”

Sherlock frowned and dropped his arms, releasing Molly, and took a step back. “If I am anything, I am loyal to my work.” He said slowly, as if he had to remind himself.

Molly bit her bottom lip, nodded, and entered her room. “Goodnight, Sherlock,” she said, her voice thick with the sudden onset of tears, and quickly shut the door.

 

* * *

 

When John Watson entered the lobby of the hotel at Loch Crenan with DI Gregson Lestrade and Sergeant Sally Donovan, they found one apathetic detective and an extremely angry brunette.

“You’re telling me you don’t care that I’m leaving for London?” Janine was saying. “On. Our. Honeymoon.”

“Yes. Because we’re not actually on a honeymoon. I thought you understood this?” Sherlock responded with an impatient roll of his eyes. John felt like punching him in the jaw for treating Janine the way he had. Sherlock must have sensed that burning desire because just as the thought floated through John’s brain Sherlock turned and abruptly walked toward him.

“Ah, John. Gary. Finally.” He nodded to them and staunchly ignored Sergeant Donovan who rolled her eyes.

“Greg,” Lestrade said wearily.

“It took you all long enough to get here.” Sherlock complained, without skipping a beat. “Follow me.” He moved off toward the lift, followed quickly by three annoyed people.

“Sherlock!” John exclaimed as the lift doors closed. He couldn’t believe his friend. “Are you seriously just going to leave Janine there like that?”

“She’s going back to London tonight, John, and mostly likely applying for a divorce tomorrow. I’ve no more use for the ruse, anyway.” Sherlock replied. “Besides, it saves me the trouble of having to explain who Molly is.” He added cheerfully.

“Wait a moment,” John put up a hand, suddenly remembering why Sherlock had called in the first place. “Where is Molly Hooper? Did you leave her on that boat?” He asked, his tone dangerous.

Sherlock looked up at the ceiling as if it could give him patience to deal with the little minds around him. “Yes, John. I left Molly on a boat surrounded by men who would sell her for money. Don’t be an idiot. She’s in her room.”

The lift doors opened and Sherlock stepped out and lead the way to his room.

“Yeah, about that,” Lestrade spoke up. “You do have evidence, right?”

Sherlock opened his mouth to say of course he had, but in the fuss of getting Molly off the boat (and the distraction of kissing her twice in addition to the depressing conversation he and Molly had afterwards) he’d quite forgotten to record, steal, or in any other way prove that the men aboard the boat were indeed traffickers and not just fishermen with an eccentric taste in gear.

“Yes, he does.” Molly was standing in her bedroom’s open doorway. The others turned to her, each with their own version of confusion on their faces. When Sherlock met her eyes he saw how sad she was. He felt a too-familiar ache in his chest, one he thought he had banished along with sentiment seven years before.

He swallowed back the urge to pull her into his arms. “I do?” he asked instead, determined not to let sentiment run his life.

“Well, I do,” Molly produced her mobile phone. “I recorded their conversation while on the boat. I think it should be enough to get them convicted.”

Sherlock would have kissed her then and thrown out everything he had just tried to convince himself of if they hadn’t been surrounded by other people. “John, Detective Lestrade, Sergeant Donovan. This is Dr. Molly Hooper.” He introduced her with an awed voice. “Why didn’t you tell me about this last night?”

Molly blushed. “I should think that’s fairly obvious, Sherlock.”

The three people observing the exchange turned slowly to look at the consulting detective, John with a smirk on his face. Sherlock cleared his throat, staunchly ignored them, and opened the door to his room.

“Since that’s the case, everyone, please come in. I have a plan.”

 

* * *

 

After they had listened to Molly’s recording, Sherlock laid out his plan to capture the traffickers. They all listened patiently, but when he was finished there was one person who less than happy.

“You want to use me as bait?” Sergeant Donovan looked at Sherlock incredulously. “That’s your plan?”

Sherlock tilted his head and sighed. “Yes, Sergeant. That is my plan. If you looked past your prejudice and considered the other aspects of my plan, you would see it is a good one.” He crossed his legs as he sat in an armchair near the fireplace. He formed a steeple with his hands and tucked them under his chin.

“That does seem rather dangerous,” Molly said slowly.

“She’s a police officer!” Sherlock exclaimed, his hands flying down. “This is her job!”

“Yeah, but usually the plans don’t come from you,” Donovan shot back and crossed her arms.

“You’re doing it, Donovan.” Lestrade told her. “You’ll be fine. He’s confident you’ll be safe, right Sherlock?”

Sherlock stood up and smiled sweetly – at which Molly and John shared a knowing look – saying, “Of course, Inspector.”


	9. Chapter 9

Even with Sherlock’s assurances Sergeant Donovan still had a few reservations about being bait. After a long discussion Lestrade managed to convince her it was the best way, and the group finally enacted the first part of Sherlock’s plan, which was to apprehend the manager of the hotel. The man was stubborn at first, but when the recording was brought up by Lestrade he crumbled. In exchange for a more lenient sentence he would help the investigators capture his comrades. Lestrade was at the man’s side the entire time he was on the phone with the other traffickers. After the call ended, the manager was taken into custody by the local police and the second stage of Sherlock’s plan was put into effect.

At ten o’clock that night Sergeant Donovan walked out onto the beach alone, posing as a bride awaiting her new husband, but with a radio and a signal for when the moment to arrest arrived. At ten thirty the traffickers were supposed to appear and take her from the beach, but then Lestrade would lead the local police out and capture them red-handed.

Sherlock and John hid with Lestrade behind a strategically placed van near the beach, a position with a perfect vantage point to watch over Donovan. Molly was back at the hotel and her absence made John apparently feel open to discussion.

“So,” he cleared his throat. “Molly’s nice.”

Sherlock glanced at his friend. “Are you really going to do this now?”

“Do what?” John looked offended. “I’m just passing the time.”

“No,” Sherlock turned his head back to watch the beach. “You’re going to lecture me.”

“No I’m not,” John glared and was silent a moment, irritated that Sherlock had once again predicted him. Then he opened his mouth to speak again, unable to hold it in. “So what are you going to do about her?”

“You’re so predictable,” Sherlock muttered. “Nothing... I don’t know.”

John raised an eyebrow. “I wasn’t expecting to hear that. You’re not just going to divorce her, then?”

“Divorce? Who? Molly? I thought Sherlock had married Janine?” Lestrade turned around with wide eyes.

Sherlock scowled at the detective. “I did. What of it?”

“Then... what’s going on with Molly? You can’t be married to two women, Sherlock.”

“I understand the legal ramifications, Inspector. Be assured, I didn’t commit bigamy on purpose.” Sherlock responded, his face going a light shade of pink. Lestrade chuckled, pleased to see Sherlock flustered for once.

The consulting detective was about to snap a nasty observation about the police detective when John interrupted.

“Oh, yes, about Janine. You can’t leave her hanging like this when you’re in love with Molly.” John said sternly.

Both Lestrade and Sherlock stared at John dumbfounded. Lestrade’s expression turned to one of glee, and Sherlock turned from pink to red.

“I’m not in love with anyone!” he protested. “I’m... attached to Molly. We have a good working relationship. There’s a difference.”

“Working relationship my arse!” John insisted. “I saw the way you looked at her earlier. And the fact you don’t know, by your own admission, what you’re going to do about the situation, means you aren’t even sure you want to divorce her. And I don’t think she wants that either.”

Sherlock was about to give a scathing reply about John’s observation skills (even though in this case they were spot on) when Lestrade waved a hand to shut them up. “They’re coming,” he hissed.

“We’ll finish this conversation later,” John whispered and settled back.

“Can’t wait,” Sherlock muttered.

“Shut up,” Lestrade looked at them angrily, losing his patience.

The two friends looked at the inspector sheepishly and quieted obediently. The three men watched as the “monster” approached the shore, barely able to be seen through the sheen of mist it created.

“That’s just sad,” Lestrade remarked quietly, referring to the monster disguise on the boat.

“Hush,” Sherlock looked at Lestrade with wide eyes. “You risk the mission!”

Lestrade would have punched Shelrock right then had it not been for Donovan giving the signal over the radio.

“Time to move,” Lestrade sprinted toward the beach with John and Sherlock at his heels. By they got there, however, Donovan had the four traffickers restrained and down on their knees.

“Took you lot long enough,” she remarked.

“Sorry, got caught up discussing Sherlock’s love life,” Lestrade replied and flashed a smug grin at Sherlock. “But looks like you handled things pretty well.”

“Yeah, I did,” Donovan said proudly.

“I believe you’ll find the missing women in the cave on the opposite shore, Inspector,” Sherlock said, eyeing the four men before them. “They haven’t sold them off yet.”

“How... oh, never mind,” Lestrade rolled his eyes and beckoned for one of the town’s constables. “Get me a boat! With a motor! Come on, Sherlock!”

 

* * *

 

Molly received a text from Sherlock alerting her to the news that the evil-doers had been caught (‘evil-doers’ being her term; he used a more technical phrase). She breathed a sigh of relief and went down to the lobby to wait for his and the others’ return. She found a comfortable chair in the lobby and sat down with Sherlock’s computer. She looked up flats in London to rent, preparing for her return to life. The return to a normal existence (or as normal as a pathologist’s life could be) excited her.

Just as she was settled down and looking through some promising flats, Janine came striding out of the lift, suitcase in hand. She walked purposefully toward the entrance to the hotel but when she saw Molly she stopped.

“You.”

Molly looked at the other woman with wide eyes. “Um, yes?” she queried, rather nervous about suddenly being confronted by the woman who, in one context, was her rival.

“You know he’s nothing but an arrogant, egotistic, manipulative prick.” She was standing before Molly now, anger and hurt written all over her face. Molly, not surprised in the least by Janine’s outburst, felt only pity for the woman, and could have strangled Sherlock for what he had done. “You love him. I can see that. And I think he might even love you back. His version of love anyway.” Janine heaved a sigh. “I don’t have anything against you and wish you all the best. I just hope he can give it to you.” With that Janine walked out of the hotel, leaving Molly with a jumble of thoughts. An idea popped into her head and she pulled her phone out of her pocket, and dialed the number of the one person who could help her execute it. Half an hour later all plans had been made. It was time Sherlock had a taste of his own medicine.

Just then she heard a great commotion outside and knew it was Sherlock and Lestrade returning. Afraid Sherlock would see right through her, Molly hurried to the elevator. The doors closed just as Sherlock walked into the lobby with Lestrade.

 

* * *

 

Sherlock saw the elevator doors close on Molly, and wondered why she hadn’t stayed to greet them. However, a broad-chested man with a severely scarred face stepped in his way. Sherlock looked him up and down. _Army tour in Iraq, stiff arm probably the injury that got him sent home; is a policeman now, handles domestic affairs. Local liaison for the Metropolitan Police._

“Sherlock Holmes.” He spoke to Sherlock. “You’re under arrest for the crime of bigamy.”

Sherlock glared at Mycroft from the other side of his prison cell in London. Two days in the cell

had given him over to a sour mood (more so than usual that is). “You took your time, Mycroft.”

Mycroft smirked and swung his umbrella around once. “Yes, terribly sorry about that, little brother. I had other business to attend to: a favor that needed fulfilling.” The manner in which Mycroft replied irritated Sherlock.

“What favor was that?” Sherlock snapped. “The royal chef need your opinion on cake flavors?”

“Dr. Hooper needed a divorce, actually.” Mycroft retorted lazily, ignoring his brother’s petulant remark.

Sherlock blinked and couldn’t think of a single thing to say for a moment. “She divorced me?”

“Yes. I felt I owed her assistance in the matter after what she has been through. Oh,” Mycroft’s eyebrows rose slightly. “You’ll be happy to know that Ms. Greene has also filed. Once hers is finalized, you’ll be cleared of charges altogether.”

“Yes, fine, fine. But Molly?”  He stopped, unsure himself of what he meant by the question.

Sherlock’s brother rolled his eyes and leant on his umbrella. “Yes…” Mycroft paused and an odd smile appeared on his face. “I understand she has decided to pursue a relationship with her fellow castaway, Mr. Addison.”

 “What makes you think I care.” Sherlock snapped. Mycroft tilted his head and watched his brother appraisingly.

“Is there a problem, Sherlock?” he asked innocently.

“No.” Sherlock answered quickly, his head shooting up from its sudden focus on the floor of his cell. “Stop asking ridiculous questions and get me out of here.”

 

* * *

 

The month after returning to London was a very one busy for Molly Hooper. She managed – with a little of Mycroft’s help – to find a nice flat and regain her position at St. Bart’s as a pathologist. He had been most insistent on assisting her ever since her return to England. Molly knew that she owed Mycroft a great deal but when she tried to stop his efforts to help, he brushed her protests aside, giving no explanation. She could only assume there was some guilt involved, even though she hadn’t blamed either brother for what had happened to her on the cruise.

In any case, as soon as he was assured of her comfort, Mycroft relented and Molly’s life was Holmes free for a while. She settled into a new routine, and even managed to reignite some of her old friendships and made new ones, the most precious of which was her quickly established friendship with John’s fiancée, Mary Morstan. The couple had helped Molly move into her new flat and it was only a short time before Molly and Mary became nearly inseparable.

Throughout the month, Molly was very aware of Sherlock’s absence. She went about her business, however, waiting patiently. He would pop up eventually at St. Bart’s she had no doubt. There was no avoiding it if he was still working. However, she would not initiate any contact with him. The trap had been set off. It was only a matter of time.

 


End file.
